Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

…

Ugh.

I opened my eyes and found myself on… something hard. The ground? All I know is that it is not welcoming to sleep on.

My lids remained heavy. I would sleep for longer, if only I had not noticed the fact that I am… outside. The skies are overcast, yet not in a way I recognized; it seemed like the type you would see when… apocalypse arrives?

What is happening? I was just sleeping yesterday—and now, this.

I looked around. This place was barren, surreal. A dream, perhaps? It does appear very much so, though I can not be certain.

I pinched myself. That is the expected test, is it not?

It had no effect; I already doubted it, and this only proved it.

Now that I consider it, everything here felt too vivid to be a dream. I have never been the type to have lucid dreams… at least, I did not believe I had. 

The air made me want to shiver, though it was better than sweltering, I suppose. It is the type of coolth you feel at the ridges of mountains—you—or in this case I—can handle without shivering. Despite that, I still prefer being inside, cuddled up in a warm blanket.

I pushed my hands against the ground to stand up. Until I realized I was not. I was levitating, oddly. This is concerning.

I also noticed that my hands were pitch black with three spikes lining my brachium—and that my fingers are now a set of three claws. 

I opened and closed them experimentally. Visually, it looked like my pointer and ring fingers had vanished, but functionally, the configuration mimicked the thumb, index, and middle. It was surprisingly intuitive, probably because it is the most dominant trio anyway. The grip, the movement…

My mind adapted faster to it than I expected. Howbeit, things requiring fine motor control or precision handling would still be extremely troublesome…

Looking to my side, I saw some sort of foggy tatters trailing from my shoulders. My neck had red, sharp growths on it. My body oddly reminded me of something from a nightmare. Or a witch, perchance. The vision of one of my eyes seems to be blocked by my seemingly white hair. I cleared it, only for it to fall back; I think I must wont myself to seeing with one eye only…

What had I turned into? I only know that I am not human anymore.

I still do not know where this is. Levitating was… difficult. I felt like I might fall at any moment. This place seemed safe, though you can not be so sure until you have seen everything.

I turned around.

There was a tower in the distance, ruined—its stone remnants floating while everything else was just… gone. Pieces that looked like those of clock hands, gears, and time markers were scattered around, messy. Most likely a clock tower.

The walls were riddled with a strange, gray lattice. It looked like a circuit board, except that… it laid dead, inert, rather than glowing with power like it was meant to be. What a… strange juxtaposition of the ancient and the modern.

Why did I even… spawn—for lack of a better term—here, though? What significance does it hold?

It does not matter for now, I guess. What matters now is how I came here, what is happening with the world right now, and what happened to me.

I slowly floated following the path leading to this tower, hoping to get a glimpse of what is outside. Beyond it, more ruins, or lack thereof, it seemed.

In the distance, I saw strange regions of color bleeding into the sky. It had clearly defined boundaries; therefore, it cannot be part of natural sky coloration. I wonder what that is…

I need to investigate those questions, and what better place to start than to… find the residents here? Sigh. Time for more interaction with strangers, I suppose. Unfortunately, there were no signs of settlement anywhere.

Let us just wander aimlessly. Surely, that will help. 

‘When in doubt, explode.’

Pity that is not possible.

The cold only seeped deeper. The wind was unending. I crossed my arms and rubbed them with my hands repeatedly—maybe I could create some warmth.

Floating still feels weird. If I could master it, that would be fun—an escape from the mundaneness of walking, for once. I can feel myself wobbling every now and then. Why is it so hard?

In any case, it is better than falling every time you try to lift off.

I wandered for hours, trying to avoid whatever these colorful regions were. Until finally, perched on a dead tree, I found a… murder? A horde of crows? Those are Murkrow, right? How fitting.

I can ponder on the ridiculousness of the word ‘murder’ although this is more important for now.

“Hey!” I shouted, the sound coming out quieter than I intended for it to be. It did not seem to notice me.

“HEY!” I tried again. One of them shot me a quick glance, only for it to seem surprised and fly away quickly, its group following suit.

“Wait. Please.” I called out, only to be met empty. Sigh… Why are they avoiding me? Peradventure my shout startled them, which makes sense… or. I deserved this anyway. It fits me a lot, actually. I… remember this feeling. The feeling of being ignored. And having people turn their backs on you.

I did notice this earlier, but I was more focused on calling them out. It seems that my voice has gotten deeper and rougher. Like something from a nightmare.

They say your voice sounds different to others than it does in your head; I suppose that is true.

Regardless, I do not know how this came to be, whether it is a side effect of waking up, or something else, but I will not complain about it. Previously, my voice was in this weird limbo between squeaky and low, so I have never really liked it. As a matter of fact, I am very glad; this is what I have always wanted.

But the one narrating this—my inner voice—is still using the old one. The one I used to have. The one I shuddered at. Ugh… It has not caught up yet, though it will… eventually. I think.

I continued venturing deeper into the forest—if you could even call it that for the lack of trees—only to find more… Pokémon that ran away when they noticed me. I still do not know why they seem so afraid of me, but I hope to find out soon.

It started becoming foggier. Is that normal?

It really does not help that the skies are not sunny. Not that I prefer sunny weather, though… It is just that the Sun is nowhere to be seen.

…

I… think it had been hours. Encounters were sparse, but thankfully I still am not hungry nor thirsty, oddly. 

Floating had grown less volatile, even though the feeling of being legless remained unpleasant.

Wait, where are my legs anyway? I had been focused so much on trying to master floating and finding someone to answer my questions.

I could feel it. Barely. Like a phantom limb. It was not there.

And so, I tried to get it out—extend it, perhaps.

So they existed. My… puny, thin legs. So I had them after all. I could extend or retract it whenever at will. Better for walking until I could wholly rely on levitation. This reminded me of owls, and many birds, for that matter.

Walking felt unnatural, to say the least. It reminded me of walking on stilts to an extent. And not only is the feeling weird, I am positive that it also looks weird on the outside.

…The ground here still feels like the ground. Yes.

What would one expect? It is just as cool as the atmosphere. Firm, and dirtily uneven.

After so long, I reached an open field which marked the end of this slightly forest-like area. There, I saw something orange glowing in the distance. Could this be a bonfire, a campsite, people?

Maybe I should approach it. I retracted my legs because who would want to see whatever I am, running at insane speeds with these noodles?

I tried to float fast there, stumbling on air a few times, somehow, before my thoughts were confirmed.

There sat a red Pokémon on a sizable log, enjoying the warmth of the fire—lighting them in warm autumnal tones—seemingly thinking about something, staring into the heat. This time, they maintained a more composed face when it saw me and did not flee like the others. How… remarkable. 

As soon as they noticed me, they looked at me with a wary gaze.

“…Hello,” I greeted.

There was no point in pretending I knew what I was doing; I do not know how to open a conversation, especially with new people.

“…Hi. What brings you… here?” they replied. The tone was careful, measured.

“Well…”

They paused, narrowing their eyes with pupils that are somehow widening simultaneously, probably trying to gather his thoughts in a panic. “Weren’t you the one who caused another version of this disaster by paralyzing the world many centuries ago, before the world was saved by a Piplup and a Grovyle? Are you an incarnation of it?!” they continued, questioning me with dripping distrust.

That escalated quickly.

“No…?” I replied honestly, although the fact that it sounded more like a question is likely to raise more suspicion.

“Then, then… how? How are you here ? I thought you were gone for good.” They stood up, the warmth fading as the firelight no longer reached him the same way. He looked more intimidating now, frankly.

“Again, I am not who you think I am. Trust me.” I defended myself, not knowing how to actually do that. How does one make something believable anyway?

“How can I trust you, then?” they retorted. Ah, there it is.

“I am simply lost. And, I cannot. So, please, just… hear me out first. I mean no harm, I promise.”

“Don’t you mean hiding ? I know your type. Quiet, mysterious, and all…” They steadied their legs further.

“I…” I am at a loss of words. How do people deal with distrust?

“You expect me to believe that?” they said coolly, folding their arms. “You’re not convincing."

“No. I know,” I said rather quickly. Well—perhaps it is time to go elsewhere.

As I thought about it, I could feel them turning their eyes from me, as if considering something.

“…Fine. What do you want?” they muttered after a beat. They had put a hand under their chin, elbow resting on the other arm. I must have missed it while I looked away.

“…Answers,” I answered, my body just as static as usual. Well, hopefully that is clear enough.

“You? Me? Questions?” They seemed disbelieved, although their stare softened. I do not know why, but I can feel them being delighted…

“Yes. Questions.”

…Silence. Please respond.

“So, are ya just gonna stand there or what?” They tilted their head and are forming what seems to be a smirk on their face. More concretely, one of their eyes is narrowing upwards. I do not know for sure, as they do not have a mouth. I flicked my gaze to the floor.

I had expected for it to ask me what questions, but alright, I will take the hint and just say them clearly. What were those again? Ah, right.

“Well, I wanted to know, what is happening here? Do you know what could possibly have happened to me, how I came here? Is this a regular phenomenon?” I looked at them again.

“For what happened to you, how am I supposed to know that?”

That answered my last question. A human being here is definitely not normal.

“But for your first one, well… it’s a long story. Sit. I’ll try to explain” Their gaze softened as they continued, sitting back down, and gestured for me to come over. That trust came too easily. Suspiciously so. I had been nothing but an unknown.

Perhaps he appreciated honesty. Or perhaps he was reckless; I do not think someone could offer warmth like that to a stranger so quickly.

Nonetheless, see? Uncertainty has some benefits.

“I’ll know when you lie, though.”

…Or not. That was unsettling.

I came over, careful not to graze the fire, then extended my legs to sit beside them. I did not understand how my form allowed sitting

Well, they are rather distant, for now. I do not think they would like someone like me sitting close, so unless they invite me, I shall just stay here. Nonetheless, the relief was immediate. Physical comfort was rare here. So was… any comfort.

I had never been fond of either of two sides, but instead the juxtaposition of both of those together. Fire in the winter, snow in the desert. The warmth stopped my need to shiver.

Beside me, on the ground, seems to be a stash of supplies for the short-term. These are probably things they have gathered before setting up… ‘camp’ here. I do not recognize most of these, only Oran Berries.

“I honestly don't know how someone like you can possibly not know, but alright.” They chuckled. Do I appear unintelligent?

“So… something… happened. We dub it ‘the Catastrophe’. We don’t know how it happened, but essentially, reality broke. The skies, the barren wasteland you see here… yeah, all because of that. I lost a lot of things…” they trail off, seemingly a bit down.

A subject better left untouched, apparently.

Their voice also sounded cozier here, unlike previously. I guess this is their regular tone.

“But anyways, well, yeah, reality broke. One of the main anomalies is the time here. It didn't halt completely, no , but while us living Pokémon are unaffected, time loops, now,” they continued. He shifted his shoulders, feigning ease. It was unconvincing.

“Time loops?” I asked.

“Ah, yeah. Not everything loops—we living beings are mostly unaffected, but most natural processes do.”

“But how does it work?”

“Well,” he looks up, “it’s different with natural processes and artificial objects. For natural processes, it just resets when it is finished. After wind passes, it will pass again. After a puddle of water evaporates, it replenishes, and the cycle repeats. 

“Then?”

“For objects, it’s kinda weird. They kinda get stuck and reset every few moments? Like, if a door gets ‘reset’ while it’s closed or opened, nothing happens. But if it’s reset while being swung? It’ll keep swinging open and snapping back to that spot. Over and over. Like—” they mimicked a door vibrating open and closed with rapid flaps of their hand. “Same with buckets, bells, windows…”

“That is absurd.”

“It is. But, the worst of all is evolving, ” they said lightly, but it felt darker.

“Hm?” I replied.

“Well, when you evolve, it’s considered a natural process, so you transform into your next stage, but you’ll just instantly revert to your previous one, and evolve again. It doesn’t sound so bad if not for the fact that you’re incapacitated during evolution… so it’s just a slow, and painful death from there. Many are desperate for an everstone.” They articulated the part about death slowly.

“It…”

“…Prevents evolution, yes. Hooh. Thank Arceus I evolved before all of that, hah!” They laughed, clearly relieved.

“Have you ever seen that happening though?” I asked, my eyes slanting outwards.

“Well, I’m sure people already know to cancel evolutions whenever it starts, so nah, nothing anymore.” They tilted their head slightly, looking away from me for a bit.

“Why are you telling me this? I assumed you were cautious.”

“This? I see no harm, really. So what if I tell you? You can’t do much with that information anyway. Try to destroy the world even more? Good luck with that.”

“…Sure.” I did not know. If I were in their position, I would have overanalyzed all the implications. And now…

What now…? Right, introductions. How did I even forget to ask last time?

“…What is your name, and species? I do not… recognize you.” Well, they were red and armored, resembling a knight. Their yellow plating was lined with red highlights, eyes flickering with an ever-present red fire. This flame was also present as a plume atop their head, giving off a faint warmth.

Two pauldrons of the same color as their armor lined the side of each of their upper arms, comparably smaller to their forearms. Their limbs started black before eventually transitioning into a flaming red at the end.

Perhaps he belonged to one of the newer generations. I had not played those games, for I did not have enough money. How does the release of new Pokémon in my world translate to this world exactly?

“Oh, I’m Ashen, an Armarouge. Nice… to meet ya! What about you?” they introduced themselves, eyes—more specifically, their bottom lids—curling into joyous arcs. Unlike what I have seen before, their eyes closed downward instead of upward.

His expression softened into a squint. Joy, maybe.

…They seem friendly. Wherefore the hesitation on ‘nice’ though? I guess it is related to their previous suspicion…

The bonfire crackled beside us to fill the silence, sending embers, fading as fast as they came, as I thought about what to say next. It and the air pleasantly smelled of burnt wood and petrichor, respectively.

…Right, I forgot something again. I was too focused on enjoying the scents.

“Oh, and also, your pronouns, please?”

“Why?”

I thought for a moment before. Well, who knows? Gender and pronouns are a weird thing in my world, but that will take too long to explain for such a trivial matter like this. I need something quick…

“Fine. He/him. What an odd thing to ask, but whatever. Assuming yours is the same?” He scoffed lightly.

“Yeah, no. He/they,” I responded.

He let out a confirming hum, probably too lazy to continue this pointless discussion. I imagine he still has a lot of questions about the ‘why’, though.

“Thank you… I will try to remember that from now on.

“Yeah, sure, no worries. Now back to that,” he reminded me.

“Oh, yeah. Well, I… do not know what I am; I only remember my name. It was… Cael.” My gaze shifted back and forth as I thought of answers.

Ashen seemed shocked. “You don’t know what you are?!” they asked. Well, the surprise seems to have turned into amazement, visible from the widening pupils.

“Well, I believe I am Darkrai. That is the only one that fits. But… that seems improbable. Why something so powerful?” I did not like how nervous I sounded; I am not accustomed to strangers. I attempted to act casual.

“You think? Well… yeah, you are right. You are a Darkrai, and ‘th’—?” Ashen confirmed, lifting his arm up, before I cut him off.

“Wait… are you sure? Darkrai? Me? Trul?” I spluttered out of incredulousness as my pupils subtly widened. I can not believe that I am Darkrai, the ruler of nightmares and darkness? It made too much sense. I had abilities. Potential. Control over dreams. So much I could unlock. So much I could become. I—

Then Ashen harrumphed, which broke my train of thought. How long have I even been silent for? I must have zoned out.

I blinked. “Apologies.”

“It’s fine. Now going back… what do you mean ‘turn’?”

“You might not believe me, though…”

I then proceeded to explain my actually rather simple backstory. Ashen’s scanning gaze felt like it pierced through my soul, frankly. Understandable; sometimes cautiousness is guaranteed.

“I was a human. I was just sleeping in my bed yesterday. Then, I woke up to find out that I have been transported into this dystopian world. I have no idea what brought me here or how I turned into a Darkrai anyway. I mean, I remember my life, but my dreams… they are blurry,” I explained. My expression is flat as ever.

“No, I actually believe that. We did, like I said, have a human transformed into a Pokémon in the past. They saved the world, but now they’re just… history.” Ashen’s gaze softens. Is he commemorating their efforts, or something? Well, things becoming history is always a shame, so I can not blame him for that.  “But anyways, that’s cool, I guess. It’s still something.”

“Ye—” I started.

“—What was your life like? Humans? The world? Th—” Ashen asked, cutting me off rapid-fire, seemingly trying to throw me off. And… he did succeed. Too many questions, too fast.

“Slow down.” I groaned slightly in exhaustion, closing my eyes and tilting my head down before I turned to look at him. “Can we… maybe do that later? That will probably take a lot of time. Truth be told, I am exhausted after wandering for a few hours. I merely want to unwind for now. And maybe focus on the more important things, such as, what are you doing right now?”

He leaned back. “Well, I’m on a mission to save the world. Trying to figure things out and restore everything back to normal,” Ashen explained, like it was the most mundane thing in the world. For something so delusional, he sounds oddly hopeful about it. Too casual for something that appears quite… impossible. Did he practice this?

“I… see. May I stay here? If you would rather I leave, I will after.” I clasped my other arm.

“One weird move and I’ll blast you. Like your nightmares…” Ashen threatened. How connotative. It could either be that my nightmares blast others, or that my nightmare-inducing ability is a ‘weird move’. However, him resting his hands on his temple does suggest that it is the latter, something that just came to mind. Right, that is true… By the way, do Darkrai even suffer from their own nightmares?

“I apologize. Even if I could theoretically control it, I still do not know how. What do you expect from a human who just came from his own world?”

I do regret it, but I just had to look into the logical side as always. When someone accuses me of something, I instinctively turn to logic instead of analyzing the emotional implications. Sadly, that causes me to look defensive most of the time. Still, it is legitimately not my fault.

While I could do so right now, I am in the middle of a conversation, after all. Emotions have never been my specialty.

“I’ve been traveling alone for quite some time now; it gets quiet sometimes. Regardless, it does sound like a nightmare in itself. Anyways, you don’t sound completely useless. So…” Ashen stood up, brushing off his armor.

Acknowledgement of my worth. Not that I am sure I even have that. What a strange feeling.

“Whaddaya say? I show you the ropes, and you, well, don’t try to stab me in the back. Or you might just regret it.” Ashen continued, his eyes arcing with sinister glee again; I can almost feel stars coming out of it every time he does that…

But the condition does seem awful, and journeying alone in this hellscape sounds dangerous, especially as someone inexperienced, even when I am a Darkrai. Yes it is, then.

“…Sure. I could use some company,” I agreed. Who knows what is happening beyond what Ashen said…?

“It’s set then. Make sure you hold on to your promises. Let’s—” Ashen declared and turned the other way around, but I cut him off again.

“Hold on.” I pointed towards myself, and more specifically my head, trying to remind him of what I said before. “What were you doing here again anyway? Was it not resting?” I questioned.

“Ah, right. Yeah, it was just some good ol’ rest. Just do that, I guess.” Ashen sat back down.

I breathed out a sigh of relief. Phew. I have a lot of questions right now, still, the most important being what he sees in me, and why he does not seem to be afraid of an actual Darkrai. And also, back to his initial reaction—another Darkrai? Destroying the world? This world must have a lot of history… 

“I’ll keep an eye out.” He said casually, like it was not a big deal. I nodded, really hoping it was not.

“I suppose… Alright, then. I shall just… take a nap, now.” I turned around to find where I should sleep.

And so, I stood up and sat against a nearby tree, emitting an earthy, amiable odor. The bark is quite humid, rough, hard, not especially comfortable, though adequate. When you are drowsy, the place does not matter.

I do not know how I caught sight of this small detail—when he blinks normally, their lid curves downwards like usual… So it can change depending on their mood. Interesting.

I closed my eyes, starting to drift, thinking about everything that just happened—and what is currently happening in the real— human, world right now. 

…I forgot that this world was just as real. Maybe I got too used to calling it that.

“Wait, spell your name,” he commanded out of the blue.

“…C-A-E-L. Contrary to people’s expectations, it is not ‘kale’. The ‘k’ never fit me.” 

I followed, not asking why like I oft would.

“Hm, I see. What a unique name. It should be easier to remember now… Sleep well, Cael.”

“…Thank you.” I had nothing else to say. I wanted to say something about him keeping watch, maybe hoping it goes well, maybe asserting that I believe he would do a good job, but those never left my mind.

“…De rien,” répondit Ashen.“…Thank you,” Ashen responded. Ashen responded, I mean. I definitely internally read that incorrectly.

That… was French. Yet, he does not have an accent. I never would have guessed.

Should I use guillemets whenever he does that?

It would… make sense. However, what if he says it in the middle of an English sentence?

That would not be consistent. I do not like that. Regular quotes it is, then.

I can feel Ashen staring at my vulnerable form closely. Is he trying to study me more? Well, he could either be someone who can read bodily expressions very well, or just… a try-hard, for lack of a better term. I hope nothing happens while I sleep, such as Ashen attacking me, or someone else. Let us just see what will happen next when I wake up.

Chapter Text

Why did the world suddenly… decide to sear itself into my eyes? These were not the eternally dull skies I was adapting to.

I looked skyward, eyes narrowed in anticipation of the glare. The day was flawless—sunny, and perfectly clear. Have I returned to my original world? Was everything that had just unfolded merely a dream?

The longer I watched, the more I felt it burning into me. My skin—dark, black—should have resisted more, if it truly owed its color to melanin; that much pigment ought to be a highly effective barrier from sunlight—unless it is not melanin at all.

Either the solar radiation here is of an unprecedented power, or the darkness of my body is due to some other, far less protective biological mechanism. Therefore… I would need an artifice instead—a cover, shadows.

…That building. Yes. A reprieve.

It was… a familiar sight—though I could not recall why. The walls were made of red bricks, and a grey stone staircase led up to a big, empty vestibule beyond.

From the gate, I drifted closer, and entered, passing from the blinding day into an instantaneous, blessed dimness. The floor tiles were a stark, unnecessarily bright white—interrupted only by black ones that ran along the walls like a broken border.

Uniform ultramarine blue lockers and brown doors with labels blurred past legibility lined the silent hallway—save for the distant, joyful laughter of… toddlers. Too distant—even when I think I used to know it. It was coming from somewhere I dared not find the source of—and hoped would never notice me, either.

The colors here were annoyingly vibrant, a jarring, visual insult to the etherealness of the place—the one produced by the crepuscular rays piercing through the windows. Or maybe it was the result of those very beams instead.

A row of water fountains lined the wall and out of habit, I pressed the button. The water fountains still worked—water trickled out. How… surprising—or not. I extended my claw to meet it, only for it to pass straight through me as if I were a ghost—a Ghost-type; I am… not.

​I approached a door, peering through the rectangular, metal-framed window. Inside was a textbook classroom: desks in their neat little rows, pristine whiteboards, stray markers and exam papers waiting for lessons that would never come. No teachers, no students. Where had they gone? Had the day ended, or was this an off-day all along?

I continued down the hall, checking another door. And another. The same emptiness every time. Confusion prickled, though not panic. Panic requires the belief that something can still be lost. I had nothing to lose here; there would have been no point in doing so anyway.

Thence, I simply turned and climbed the stairs, deeper into this seemingly hollow school.

Drawing nearer to the teacher’s room, I noticed a slip of paper affixed to the door: ‘We have a surprise for you!’

A surprise—for me? Why me?

The words should have stirred warmth, but rather, it stirred unease. The word ‘surprise’ carries no inherent value; it can conceal delight as easily as cruelty. What it does promise is only the unknown.

This building now feels more worn into me, although the memory was still out of reach. Something in me… flickered. Was it possible? A welcome back? A recognition?

No. Foolish.

Still, my steps quickened—not from eagerness, but from the need to resolve this… mystery. Better to tear the veil off faster than endure the anticipation.

At the room at the end of the floor, I opened the door, and—

I stiffened. Columns of humans in desks, clustered groups near the front. The weight of their expectant faces, their familiar gazes, were too heavy to bear for me—though I could not place them. Recognition gnawed without offering clarity.

Then, one of the teens at the front smiled—a predator’s grin dressed as a greeting. “Ah, here he is, everyone! The loser! Welcome…”

I knew the face, but not from where. He was, by all appearances, the leader of their friend group. And that just made the words land heavier—the weight comparable to a physical blow.

As the room tilted, the familiarity I had felt evaporated. I stood there, an outsider, my pulse thudded with the distinct rhythm of being watched.

Their stares blanked, pupils draining away until they were nothing but white sockets, glassy and wrong—eerie and soulless, like corpses that had learned to mock. What… had happened to them?

One of them followed. “Do you really think you matter?”

“You’re nothing. Nobody wants you!”

“And nobody will ever do.”

Each voice pressed against me, layering until my ribs ached. I wanted to beg for their mercy—offer apologies for crimes unnamed, to barter for silence. But even in my imagination…  no words formed. I closed my eyes, wishing it would end, but their taunts only grew louder.

“Ugh. Annoying. Weird dumbass. I feel second-hand embarrassment just looking at you.”

“You suck.”

“Ugly.”

I had not felt this kind of anticipation in a long time—and for that, or something else, I was punished. I had thought maybe this time would be different—one way or another. The note had promised a surprise. And it was.

“Did you seriously think that note was for you?”

I wanted to answer, ask why—speak up. However, I could not bring myself to part my lips—not that I have one.

The voices tangled, overlapping, a blaring chorus of condemnation. The faces began to warp—duplicating, stretching into lengths that should not be possible. The next second, their eyes blacked out in unison. Nothing was left—no sclerae, no pupils, no iris—except for the crescent gashes of smiles, wide and wrong.

They still spoke, repeating in increasing intensity, until they were no longer aimed at me—only echoes devouring themselves. The air vibrated with them, the sound washing over me like a wave of pure static. Simultaneously, imaginary goosebumps rose on my skin and a shiver lanced down my spine.

The daylight blinked out, replaced by a darkness that swelled, infinite, alive—like it followed my feelings. My heart ached an ache without memory. Something unnamed, but keen enough to prick anyway. Grief? Sadness? Shame? 

I dropped down, sweat dripping down my skin. The walls convulsed, stretching endlessly into the abyss—or, else, it was me, sinking—plunging past the floor, deeper and deeper into a mind that was not mine or was too much mine.

No—no. This—cannot be real. Not again. Had I not done everything right? After everything, ẁ̶̱͙̣̪͝͝ḩ̸̭͈̝͍̉͂ͅy̶̩̩̘͍̤͋̄̈́̔ ̷̦̪̓̐͂̋͝ẗ̷̝̰̮̖͍́͑h̸̎͋̽̃̀̃͊ͅḯ̷̛̖̜͛̕ș̶͇̻͍̗̒͑?̷̞̱́͆̀!̶͓̣͇̱̮̜̩̅͌̉͘͝ Why does it still hurt?! After all, I know these are not real, are they not? I can not stop ị̶̼͖̦̼͐̊͂̂ţ̷̭͙̊̂́͆!̴̔͐̊̈́̀͝ͅ If this is a nightmare, w̵̨̞̙̭͖̐̌̈́̃̔̋ḫ̸̓̚̚y̸̛͎̣̭̿̃͛͆̚—̶̢̡̛͎͓̈́̔́̾̑͜͝͝ͅ?̶̘͇̟̓͜ͅ!̵̢̭͇̮̠̖̖̓͋͑̒͆̊͘̕

A sound snapped me back to this unreal real ity. It was a single footstep—so crisp and deliberate it sliced through all the noice. At the far end of the hallway, a figure emerged from the dark, creeping closer—slow, steady. In its hand, something caught the faintest glint… A…—

++++ _{[CW: Gore (start)]} ++++

Knife…?! I gulped a lump down my throat, if I even had that.

My breath hitched. What is hap—?

Then, my body spasmed. A sudden, sharp pain bloomed in my chest. I tried to move—but though I can feel my limbs—they would not listen. I froze, with only my eyes left to control.

“You wanted a surprise? Here it is! Your heart hurts? Now you know what it truly feels like!” a mysterious voice, presumably the… stabber, declared. It pressed against the wound as much as the knife did.

What could one even do when their body does not cooperate? I was forced to focus on the pain, the knife inside of me. It was shoved just beside where a heart would be, close enough, only to mimic—but not end. They wanted me awake—aware—through every ounce of pain, without the escape of death.

My chest could only cave helplessly around the blade. The cold steel had split me open clumsily— personally.

So, Darkrai bleed, huh? That is one conclusion I can take… from this, I suppose.

My mind connected back to the situation at hand. I could not scream as my pupils dilated in shock, reflexively. They—! Hah—

A wet, meaty squelch. Blood spilled hot, coating the inside of my body out just as it forced its way out. The figure twisted the weapon slowly, methodically, ensuring I catalogued every torturous angle.

The pain deepened, reaching levels I could not comprehend, let alone… process. My limbs grew heavy, limp. My eyelids felt like a teaspoonful of neutron star matter, vision blurring.

They abruptly yanked their blade out of me with a single, sharp motion. My chest hollowed, and more blood poured out, heavy, unwilling to stop, pooling warm beneath me. I wanted to hold the wound, to compress it, to at least… pretend I could slow the flow—but my claws could not allow even that.

I looked up one last time. Their stare was cruel, unblinking.

T-Thanks. You… happy now…?

The grin answered. Wide, wicked, gloom swallowing everything beyond. The same laughter I heard previously rose again, deeper, more malicious. It was all the only sight, the only sound.

My breath… slipped out… as a broken… sigh. Then… nothing…

++++ _{[CW: Gore (end)]} ++++

So this is what it feels like—to be opened, seen, and ruined for it.

…

“CAEL!”

“Ah—!” I gasped, eyes snapping open, panting. The sudden, jarring utterance of my name pulled me from the dark.

The firelight flickered back into view; I was back. Ashen’s face swam in focus, face drawn tight with something—worry, maybe.

My heart was still a frantic drum against my ribs like it meant to escape. My limbs worked again, albeit sluggishly. I pressed my chest with one hand, hoping the pressure would— No. This is simply... a measurement of data—beats per minute, recovery time.

…Yet, I could not deny the slight loosening beneath my palm.

Still, a sting in my cheek remained, faint, almost warm. A slap? Likely. Another question for later.

“What happened? You experience nightmares too? Was it that bad?”

He lowered himself beside me, one knee on the ground, the other leg bent with an arm resting over it, bringing his gaze level with mine—a warrior’s pose.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “One: nightmares—most likely. Two: yes. Three: it is inconclusive.” I ticked them off on my claws. “Why?”

​"You were sweating and your face looked distressed," Ashen pressed, "even while you were asleep. I just thought I'd wake you up, get you out of your suffering.”

“…Thanks, I suppose. But do not concern yourself; I can handle it fine on my own.”

A lie… for the best; I do not want to hear Ashen screaming at me every time I sleep.

Now that my consciousness was returning, I felt the clammy, cold sweat on my head. Yet another anatomical confirmation—Darkrai… do have sweat glands.

(“Nah… pretty sure you can't.”)

But more importantly, my mind lagged, blurring at the edges. I feel more weary than last time; that must have been an awful nap session. Perhaps an effect of an unnatural awakening. Is this not why people are groggy in mornings?

…What did I want to say again? Had Ashen said something?

I blinked, trying to snap back. “What?”

“Never mind. Anyways, feeling better now? Ready to start the adventure?”

“Hngg… no. Still exhausted. But this… is not sustainable. Do you have anything?”

“Sleepyhead…” he muttered with theatrical annoyance. “Wait here. I might have something to restore your stamina.” 

With that, Ashen stood up, turned around, and almost started walking towards the campfire until I called him.

“No. You wait.” It… came out sharper than I had intended, though I let it stand.

Ashen halted, turning halfway back toward me.

“You dare strike a god?” I questioned, eyes narrowing. My tone remained even, but there was weight behind it. My neck still refused to coöperate—yet another failure of this body—but my gaze was locked on his.

I knew I was not truly a Darkrai, although the title alone should command fear, reverence—distance. If not… he needs to be reminded.

“Oh, that? Of course!” he sang, turning and continued to the campfire, blithe as ever.

I watched him go. No apology, no second thought. Typical. The moment slipped away, undermined, yet not without its edge of amusement. My hand drifted absently to my cheek. He would need a… sterner reminder. Or I can simply give up entirely. The latter sounded more appealing.

From the distance, I saw him squatting, presumably rummaging through the supplies. After a while, he stood back up and walked towards me again, holding something red in his hand.

He lowered himself again before shoving the item to me. “Here. An Apple. Eat up.”

Of course. Even this world clings to the ordinary.

I grabbed the Apple tentatively, careful not to squash it with my claws, as I asked, “Do I not have a mouth? How can I eat this?”

“Just bring it where your mouth would be, and act as if you are biting it.” He even demonstrated, as though I were dense.

I hummed—too lazy to nod—and obeyed. After, a bite did appear on the Apple. I could feel myself chewing it inside of my… ‘mouth’, then I swallowed it.

It tasted like a regular Apple from my old world—crunchy, slightly refreshing, and a mix of sour and sweet. The skin, however, was as stringy and dull as I remember it—hard to masticate.

“Feeling better now?”

“I do not know. Nothing is instant. If I said yes without certainty, it would be placebo.”

It would also be a lie—that I faked it all along.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Ashen rolled his eyes with a… ‘grin’, as if he was expecting it.

I do not know why I keep describing his expressions with human gestures when both of us do not have visible lips. Perhaps it was his eyes—squinting upwards in that familiar way—that made me see it. Or maybe it was just a lazy attempt to make sense of a world that refused to be rational. For all I care, it is simply not effective to have to repeat the elaboration every time.

Ashen leaned closer, his stare intense. “Just finish that, and we’ll go. No more excuses, got that?”

I nodded once.

“Great! I’ll be waiting. Don’t let me catch you slacking!” He dropped on the other side of the bark, looking off to the distance.

…I feel watched.

“Are there fruits here other than Apples?”

“The berries, duh.” He still did not turn an eye to me. Thank you… Sherlock.

I barely stopped myself from sighing. “I mean fruits that are not berries.”

“Ohh! Yeah, of course we do! Bananas are the second most common. Then we have strawberries, tomatoes, avocados, and so on… Though you’d probably never find them unless you get really lucky in a flux zone. But it’s fine; they weren’t that popular anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Well… they’re not magical, and even before the Catastrophe, they were still quite rare. Mostly used for cuisine stuff. But I’m no cook, so… don’t ask about how they’re used.”

“I… see.”

I looked down at the apple another time, where I had bitten it. The flesh was torn—but not crushed.

The bite mark was uneven, almost serrated, like a carnivore had clamped down on it. Deep punctures curved into the skin, tapering at the ends like claws raked through a clay tablet—or something of a similar consistency.

Like fangs. Except that it did not come in pairs—every tooth was one.

“Hm…” I mumbled.

Ashen glanced over my shoulder, catching me staring at the bite. He let out a low whistle. “Whoa. That’s not a bite mark I’ve ever seen before.”

“Me neither.”

“What—? Well? That’s fair. We can’t really see our own teeth randomly, anyway, since we don’t have… lips. But hey, why don’t we see it together?”

“…How?” Can you see things from the inside of our mouths? Or are they just… invisible?

Ashen then did the most exaggerated grin I had ever seen—if you could even call it that anymore. What would be his upper lip pulled back, upper teeth bared wide, biting his bottom lip in a way that would look ridiculous on anyone else.

“Mmmh hmm,” he said, heavily muffled through the expression—like someone trying to speak underwater. “Mmh mh mh mh hmmh. Mmh mh. Hmm? Mmh mh hm hmm mhm.”

I stared, confused… but I took it as him instructing me to do the same.

So many rounded edges. Square-shaped and off-white with a slight grey tint. They resembled that of a human's. Of what I… used to have.

He took them back, his voice returning to normal. “Heh. Perfectly normal. Kinda boring, honestly. Nothing impressive.”

I scrupled, but… I mimicked the movement anyway. I pushed my upper teeth forward—past where my mouth should have been—until they settled over the lower edge of my face. I could feel the air catch on them, the faint chill of exposure. And—

It was… sharp. Too sharp.

“Whoa… does that hurt?”

“Mmmhhhh…”

The pressure of my own bite tugged too far inward. My lip—if I even had a proper one—twinged. Stung. Bit back.

I flinched and immediately drew the teeth in. Thin, burning spots bloomed where they had sank in—an ache, not quite bleeding, but close.

“You okay? It's kinda… bruised. Or something.”

“Yes. I am fine… Merely a minor ache.” It was not. “They are… sharper than I thought.”

“It looks just like mine… except everything in there is sharp! No—it looks like a Sableye’s! That’s so many points… Why do you have so many points?! I'm scared of your mouth now.”

“One—yes, I know. Two—I do not know. Evolution? I am clearly not a carnivore, though.”

“Okay, noted. I'll be very careful when putting anything in your mouth.”

“Why would you…?”

“When I need to feed you, of course!”

“I am not a baby.”

“Yet people can still be so stubborn when it comes to eating.”

“…Should I have expected pain?”

“Well, I kinda didn't expect yourself to stab yourself.”

“I am never doing that again.”

“You shouldn’t.”

And so, I resumed munching on the Apple at a normal pace. Its effects—if any—crept in too slowly to notice. Afterwards, I simply laid the core on the ground. It should decompose, should it not? What are the decompos—?

“Ah, wonderful!” Ashen clapped his hands, eyes curving delightfully. “Time to go then. C’mon, help me pack things up… or else.” He shot me a glare, but the voice lacked the frost to match it. Still, it carried an unspoken dare: prove myself useful.

I silently heeded his commands, retracted my legs, and floated after him.

“…How do we put it out?”

Ashen raised a pointed hand, beaming. “That’s the neat part. We don’t!”

“Excuse me?” I prompted. Would it not spread? Burn the forest? Dead as it was, still.

“Remember how time loops? The fire just goes on and on. Once the wood is burnt, it’s replenished, so it’ll just stay there. No spreading,” Ashen explained, opening his arms wide. “It’s really helpful for explorers like us! It’s kinda like some sort of pit stop. Setting up camp isn’t hard since there’s already a fire. How convenient, right?”

“Right.” Now that I paid attention, the fire’s size seems to have remained constant even succeeding my nap, which had lasted for who knows how long.

I helped him gather our supplies into his small, ragged yellow cloth. A pitiful excuse for a bag. Surely, we could find better. Surely.

“…How long was I asleep for?”

“I dunno. I don’t have a clock.”

I sighed. Of course, Sher—

He hummed. “But if I had to guess, somewhere between two to three hours.”

…Not long—but still, hours? What did he even do in all that time?

He then tied it to a stick and rested it on his shoulder, before we headed off.

“Do you not have a proper backpack, or something?” I asked, back to my first question, trying my best not to sound like a complaint.

“Nope. Us explorers make do with what we’ve got.”

“Can we try to find one?”

“I dunno. If we’re lucky, then maybe yeah.”

…Casual dismissal. Irritating. Where are his anxieties?

“…Where are we headed?”

“Let’s just see where this takes us.”

For someone without direction—or even a plan to ‘restore the world’ despite it being his entire goal, he somehow looked like he knows what he was doing. Lost, yet so confident. Certain while admitting that we were walking into who-knows-what. Baffling.

I let out a sigh. “Fine. By the way, what were you doing while I was asleep?”

The question was not important, but I had to ask. What does one even do when their only companion is unconscious?

“Oh, y’know. Nothing!” he said, as if it was the most shocking revelation ever.

“That cannot be real.”

“Of course it is! I mean, what else would I do?”

“You are incapable of ‘nothing’.”

His eyes lit up. “Wait, wait—are you saying I’m always doing something? Like, nothing I do amounts to nothing?”

“That is not what I meant.“

“Sure sounds like it.”

“It does not.”

“C’mon, admit it. You think I’m impressive.”

“…You are avoiding the question.”

“Hmm… Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Am I?”

“…‘Something’ is not an answer.”

“What about ‘nothing’?”

“That is not acceptable either.”

“Alright, alright—fine. You got me. I watched the fire, watched you… Made sure nothing hurt you. You look pretty distressed while asleep. I thought it was just a habit or something, but you started twitching and breathing heavily. That’s when I knew you had a nightmare. I didn’t wake you up at first because, well, who likes being woken up? But I just couldn’t stand seeing you like that…” His words tangled with too many gestures.

A pause. “You did all that?”

The shallow one had depth, apparently; he cares. Hm.

I should say thank you, but—

Ashen turned around, smirking already ere I could. “Nah, I also fought the urge to do ‘funny’ things to you. I thought of drawing on you, but I had nothing to draw with and you’re pitch-black already. Thought of maybe balancing berries on you, testing your stillness and all, but I gotta be decent, right? Haha!” His hands punctuated every word, restless.

…The fact that you thought of doing those things does not make you decent, Sir.

I blinked once, slowly, followed by faster, repeated flutters. I could not pin him down.

He saw me suffer—and chose not to look away, when he easily could have. Then… subsequently, he instead made a joke about pranking me. And somehow, both of those pieces slid together seamlessly. What am I supposed to do with that?

Wait, no, we were—are walking—no, not walking—whatever!

I hurried my movements. “…I see. Is there anything else I should know now?”

Ashen hummed as he looked upwards. “Hmm… oh right!”

The forgetful one, hm?

“Back then, our world had these things called mystery dungeons. Just… dungeons—duh—but with feral Pokémon, unlike us. They contained many resources, though their layout changed each time. Now, due to the distortion of space, these dungeons have streeetched—into entire fields. Still unpredictable, but the danger lies in the land itself—environmental hazards, and not creatures. Each are to either one or two elements or types. And so, as you can see, they’re really dangerous yet important—for even the minimum of survival.”

“Wherefore?”

“‘Wherefore’? What?”

“Why.”

“Dude… are these archaic words? How old are you?”

“Their usage is not bound by age. Try expanding your vocabulary.”

“Who even uses them?!”

“Peradventure the more suitable question is ‘wherefore does nobody utilize them?’”

“Okay now you’re just doing it to mess with me.” He paused. “Even though you’re not wrong.”

“If I have proven my point to you, then mayhaps it is time for you to answer my question.”

“Well, you distracted me from it! That’s why you shouldn’t do the whole word-fencing thing!” he protested.

“Then perhaps you should build resistance to ‘word-fencing’. It happens ofttimes.”

“Fine, fine! Maybe I’ll do it one day.”

“Which means ‘never’.”

“What—”

“Anyway, the question.”

“Okay, okay! Well, it’s because these zones—‘flux zones’—are the sole source of all the supplies, the items… even the berries! The bare minimum, y’know?”

Ah. So that was what those colored splotches of the sky were—the ones I saw on my way to meeting Ashen. And also, I did not have time to think about this before, but my condolences to the people who got trolled by someone entering the flux zones repeatedly to change the layout for those inside—accidentally or not.

“How do… those berries even withstand those environmental hazards you spoke of?

“You… could also find them just lying there inside mystery dungeons. It’s just happened since the dawn of time, so—yeah.”

…A strange existence. The survival strategies of these berries are, forsooth, exceedingly magical. Truly beyond comprehension.

“If berries are such a vital survival necessity, yet difficult to acquire… how does your society still function?”

“It’s not a big deal ‘cause of—again—time loops. The berries regrow almost instantly! Who knew… it’d work… in our favor, huh?”

“Why—”

“Why haven’t we ran out of safe land, you ask? Great question! Because they’re… actually really small. Don’t be fooled, though! Their total area could probably span an entire region if someone measured it.”

How did he even predict what I was going to say?

My eyes narrowed. “If they are so humongous, then how can one safely venture through it long enough to reach the berry trees?”

“Well, from what I’ve found out, we aren’t affected by the flux zones of our own primary types. So I’d be able to traverse the Fire flux zones safely—but not psychic ones, you with Dark-Ghost ones too.”

“…Dual-type flux zones exist?”

“Yep! Guess the universe decided they were too similar to stay separate.” He mashed his palms together in demonstration.

“However… one does not need to be both types to enter them safely?”

“Nope. And some types don’t even have their own Zones.”

My condolences to them as well.

“…Why? Which ones? And what of the Pokémon who are—”

“Whoa, slow down! too many rules to dump on you at once. We’ll be here all day. Maybe we can save this for later.”

Noted.

“Okay, okay. But then, how do you traverse those of types other than one’s?”

“We can craft special orbs,” he said, drawing a circle in the air. “Flux orbs. Toss one and they’ll burst to create a temporary shield! It lets you walk through Flux Zones without being completely obliterated.” He mimicked the movement of using one—throwing a fist into the sky before releasing it, complete with a slight whooshing sound. How… childish.

I blinked. “And… the recipe?”

“Takes work. Each zone contains one specific type of all flux shards it can produce, but never of its own type. A Fire flux zone, for example, might grow Ice or Steel shards—the types that are weak to the zone’s typing. Probably a leftover quirk of how the world tries to balance itself.”

“What about the instructions…?”

“Instructions? One: grind the shards into dust. Two: mix it with berry juice. Three: and there you are! One usable charge for your shield!”

“…Are these hard to find?”

“…I mean, I'd say it's so-so? Each instance of a zone only gives one kind. If you’re lucky, you might find Universal shards, though. Use them, and the orb protects you anywhere. But those are the kind of things you’d trade a limb for.”

“…Wonderful.”

“Cheer up; you’ve got me!” Ashen said, patting my shoulder like a condescending uncle. “And my entire Fire zone collection.”

“…Are moves useless now?”

“For flux zones—mostly, yeah; no more wild critters you gotta defeat. Some are useful, like Protect, but I doubt either of us could learn it. But still, there’s nothing wrong with some training! I’m positive we’ll be having a huge big boss fight at the end. Plus, you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself and look like a weakling, right, Darkrai?”

…And another failure of this new body, albeit societal.

I stared at him flatly. Unnecessary.

“Speaking of which, what moves do you know?”

“How should I know? I have not used any.” I squinted one of my eyes. This was obvious, was it not?

“Then maybe it’s about time you try it out!”

“…How? I am— was only a human.”

“It’s simple, really. I’ll show you later; just gotta find an open field!”

We continued—he walked, I levitated—through the bleak wasteland. The silence was a relief. There were no more words, just the cold air cutting through the dust; I could focus on calming the storm still buzzing in my chest.

The feeling of being watched clung to me anyway. Probably just paranoia. Or not. Either way, I lowered my gaze—the perfect posture for brooding, in my opinion—even though the ground held no answers.

With the amount of time I was going to be spending here, the nightmares were a certainty. Maybe, just maybe, if they kept repeating, I could finally understand what they were about. Figure out what had been bugging me for so long and, perhaps, fix it.

My mind wandered back to those ferocious Pokémon he had mentioned. Where are they now? Did they linger in the Flux Zones until the disasters devoured them—or did they integrate into civilization?.

Do settlements even exist here? If so, I imagine that it should be close to the zones for easy resource collection but could a flux zone actually expand? Probably not.

I realized I had been half-blind for some time now. Turns out, it is quite easy to adjust to, especially when your other eye is just… blocked unintentionally, and not closed directly. The other eye still did all of its optical function—blinked, saw; it just was not light, but the absence of it.

Our mouths… do we even have them? Conveniently invisible, perhaps. That would explain why berries seem to work regardless of anatomy—in the games.

I recalled a few things from my world, despite the fact that I am not an expert on the subject. How does the biology of Pokémon work? Are moves rationed like ammunition—finite uses, like ‘power points’?

Held items? Does one just hold them for eternity or are they losable?

Forgetting moves? How can one abruptly forget something they have been using for a long while, if not directly before the disremembering?

And… how does accuracy work in reality? Surely Dark Void can not automatically miss half the time. If that is true… this world would be crueler than I had imagined.

Actual animals? Do they exist? And… breeding… no.

…About what he said earlier… Dignity? Must I maintain it? As if that were mine to begin with.

Whatever reputation this other Darkrai left behind, I did not earn it—and it reeks of something unadmirable. I might ask what he meant later, when he is less insufferably energetic,

Hhhgh… Thoughts are congenial—even when I brood in spite of it supposedly ‘making one unhappy’. Unfortunately, some will certainly tangle into knots—like the ones on my mind currently. Chasing them will only cause them to multiply, coil tighter, until clarity is unreachable. I wanted answers but instead, I got headaches.

I lifted my head again, pulling free of the spiral. In front of us, stood a spacious field with… nothing. Apparently our destination. At least now I had something to do other than contemplate the meaning of life.

“Here we are!” Ashen introduced, opening his arms like he was revealing a brand-new grand invention, or something.

“…Glamorous.”

“Prepare; middle of the field.

The meadow was not so large, but the trip was shorter than I had expected.

“Okay, ready?” He dropped both himself and his bindle, then straightened.

“Readier than ever,” I said with a distinct dearth of enthusiasm.

Not exactly. Natheless, technically true; I am slightly more ready than earlier—because if I was going to do this, I needed to get it over with—even though I would be considered ‘unready’ regardless on a linear scale of readiness.

“Ahah, sure, but whatever. Okay so, just close your eyes, make your hands look like it’s gonna unleash something, concentrate all your energy on it, and…”

I tried doing exactly that—arms out, every muscle tensed, like bracing against some invisible weight. This is what he meant, is it not?

…Yes; it must be. Something began to coil in my palm, not painful, but unsteady. Like… clutching a sphere of metal so dense my arm might collapse beneath it. My claws trembled with the effort to keep it steady. It felt as though any relaxation—even the slightest involuntary shudder—would tear it free, a destructive eruption without aim.

The tension built sharper, heavier, until my whole body felt like it was leaning against a door about to burst open.

And then it did.

The air split. All of a sudden, a rush of violet streaks—wrapped in a near pitch-black aura—tore out of me, shrieking as they scattered across the field. The force shoved me backward a fraction—still enough that I staggered a trifle before catching myself. So—that is kickback.

“Magnifique! That’s Ominous Wind.”

“I see…”

“Did you know it has a ten percent chance of boosting basically all of your useful stats? You’re gonna become a certified gambler!” Ashen chuckled.

“…How did you know the probability—down to the exact percentage?”

“The scientists here calculated it, of course!”

“Are you a scientist?”

“Nope.” He grinned without shame. “But you don’t have to be one to know, do you?”

…Fair enough. Regardless, that percentage would not be reliable anyway due to statistical independence. I suppose I should hope my other moves do not require such rolls of a die to be useful.

“…What about my other moves? How am I supposed to figure them out?”

Ashen snickered, placing a hand where his mouth would be, like he was plotting. What was so funny? Was my cluelessness a source of amusement? 

Then he leapt, spheres of bright, psychic light forming in his raised hands.

What?

A single bead of sweat slid down my face. My guard raised on instinct, breath hitching.

…Already?

Then, he hurled them. At me.

A shiver cut down my spine. My chest clenched tight. No, no—he would not. Not this early Betrayal this soon? Impossible. I had only just—

No, no—the light was already flying. I tried to float away as fast as I could. If-if the body was lost, at least… the soul might remain…!

…Huh?

Something flickered at my side. For a heartbeat, I thought it was death. That was it. He had—

(“Yes!”)

No. I was still here. Alive. Ashen had missed. On purpose? Or mercy? My lungs scraped for air as I exhaled a little too sharply.

“You glew white,” Ashen stated. I… must have been too focused on saving myself to notice that.

I glanced back. Another copy of me floated there. Emotionless, blank. Utterly stupid and pathetic. I wanted it gone. A husk, a decoy, a hollow lure—exactly what I abhor. And yet… Ashen was smiling—as if this was something worth celebrating. It felt like mockery.

“What were you trying to do?” I asked, backing down slowly, suspicion edging every word.

“Test your reflexes!”

“I… Do not do that ever again, please.” The words ripped out of me before I could stop them, my eyes shutting forcibly against the sting in my head.

“H-huh? Oh—sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

…‘Sorry’? The word caught me off-guard. I was not used to that. Not used to being listened to. Not used to someone admitting I was right.

It felt wrong. Like I misheard. Like a cheap trick of the mind. A trap. Too easy, too strange.

I do not know what to do when someone does… that. When they do not refuse apologizing. When they do not laugh. When they agree with me—accepting fault without twisting it back around, until I inevitably believe it in spite of knowing better.

“…I duplicated. Like a coward. An idiot.”

“Like a survivor,” Ashen corrected, stepping closer. “That was great! Now you know that well, you know Double Team.”—was it, truly?—”Great for dodging attacks, like the cowar— the survivor you are!”

I opened my eyes and gave a small hiss, a cue to stop being stupid and act serious. “Well, how do you remove this thing?”

“Just attack it. Hey, since it’s still moving, it could be good to test your accuracy!”

…Fine.

Accordingly, I raised another fist, and loosed another Ominous Wind with a splashing motion from my claws.

The clone shattered on the first try. Meaningless. Illusions can not dodge.

“Great job!” Ashen’s eyes turned into cheerful crescents. He left it at that when I was waiting for a joke—but even then, it felt… off. 

“I suppose,” I said tepidly. I am not especially fond of this craven, silly move. I wish I had or could learn something else instead, something… braver.

“Hey—wait, I think, I think— from my observations, you can make as many clones as you want, right? And they can even split off from other clones! Clone-ception, heh?”

“…And what do you intend to achieve by telling me this?”

“Well, you can arrange them too. Put those two together, and you could make some crazy shapes! Just thought it was a neat trick.”

“…Which shape should I make?”

“Whoa—seriously? For realsies? I didn’t mean right this second. What if it’s… too tough? I’ve only seen veterans pull that off, y’know.”

“Would there be a problem if I failed?”

“What? No, not at all! You’re bold, huh?”

“…That was not my objective.”

“Sure, sure. Still, you catch on fast. Let’s see… try a circle!”

…Okay.

Subsequently, I floated further from Ashen, and imagined myself splitting into two—like… cells undergoing mitosis. All the clones fanned out into a circle, just like I had painted in my mind. I glowed with every clone… although the brightness—one way or another—did not blind me. Each one stared at Ashen with that same spiritless face. How marvelous. Truly dignified.

Ashen remained still. “Before I wipe them, your clones mimic you! Try using a move.”

Expectedly, I flicked an Ominous Wind, idly. All the clones copied. He stood in front of one of my clones, but they simply phased through him.

“So, as you can s—”

“No, I have understood,” I cut him off.

The clones are illusions. Therefore, the attacks are also not real, only empty images.

“Hm, smart, huh?”

It is… not that hard, to be honest.

Wait, ‘smart’? The word cut. I felt a slight strain on my eyes—they widened.

“Never call me that again,” I said, sharp as glass.

“…Got it. Still—congrats! I guess you now know everything about Double Team.”

“Sure.” I shrugged it off. Another burden disguised as a move.

“…What moves do you know, then?”

“Oh, you might’ve seen one of them—that thing I threw at… you, was Psyshock. The others are Fire Spin, Flare Blitz, and…” Ashen trailed off, closing his eyes. He closed his eyes, lifted a leg into a ridiculous pose, hands pressed together like he was praying. He took a deep breath and his body started to glow. Colorful wisps spiraled into him, ending in a faint sparkle. “…Calm Mind. Neat, right?”

The… Tree Pose?

“Do you have to do the pose every time? That is inconvenient.”

He shrugged. “Nah. That was just for effect.”

It did successfully convey what the move was about, although that was already clear enough from the name. “…I see. It still does not fit you.”

“Nah, it totally does!” He flicked a hand dismissively.

“…I beg to disagree.”

“Sure, bud. Deep inside, you know it does.”

…Damn, why did I initiate small talk…?

Fine. I let it pass. Calm Mind suits him a bit, I suppose; he barely worries about anything. But calm? Hardly.

I stalled, words drying out—until finally something came to mind. “…Should we not plan our journey?”

“Sure! Let’s find a tree.” He scooped up his bundle.

I nodded. Proceeding, we walked to a nearby group of dead trees at the field’s edge. We took a seat across from each other.

Yes, I extended my legs again. I do not think I need to repeat this every time.

“What’s on your mind?” Ashen started.

“…Plenty.” Too much, actually.

“Go on! I’m sure we have a lot of time.”

“Still…” I sighed. “First, we will need a proper bag. Non-negotiable.”

“Okay!” Ashen gave me a thumbs-up.

“Next, we figure out what ‘restoring the world’ entails.”

“Mhm…”

“That is the extent of my… ‘master plan’.” I dropped my head and closed my eyes in resignation. “I am not sure of the specifics yet,” I admitted.

“Don’t sweat it! I’m sure we’ll figure it out along the way. After you’re done sharing everything, I can explain some more.” He raised an arm, palms facing upward. “Like… details on how this  world works, its history, my history, yadda yadda.” His hand spun in a circle.

“…Sure.”

“Oh yeah, if we wanna get stronger, we should spar. A lot,” he mentioned casually.

The word… meant a lot more than I expected. ‘Spar’… That had not crossed my mind before. 

I never did well in competitive team-based things. I could never take it seriously, could never feel… self-assured.

They say practice and failure make you better—sure. Notwithstanding, when I spar, all I can think about is what the other person sees—me fumbling. Weak. Pitiful.

And this time it is worse. This is not just some stranger. It is… him. My supposed ally. My… ‘friend’. How am I supposed to strike him without holding back? Every possible move feels wrong—too harsh, too soft, and worst of all—too revealing.

I never give my all. I cannot give my all. If I ever did… with this body—with what being a Mythical means—then I might crush him. Break him. And I cannot even begin to think about what comes—

A… crunchy, munching sound. It interrupted that train of thought. I blinked, bringing my vision back to focus. It was Ashen. Eating. Another Apple.

“…What? I was hungry. I was giving you space.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want some?” He offered me another apple.

“No, thank you.”

“You sure?” He extended his arms further.

“I am not hungry.”

“Really? Aren’t you tired from all that, though?”

Well yes, I am, although I do not have the energy to chew right now.

“No.”

Ashen got up, crouched in front of me, holding it out again. “C’mon, just take it. One bite only.”

“I said no.”

“For your stamina. For literally any reason. For me—your friend, pleeeeease?” He tilted his head, eyes widening like a pleading puppy. Eugh…

“I said no.”

“And I said too bad!” He shoved the Apple to where my mouth would be.

Reflexes took over; I opened a palm and pushed him back. Soft, shimmering, pulsing blue halos shot out from my hands, glowing the same color.

Ashen stared for a good five seconds before he slumped without warning—Apple tumbling from his grip as he collapsed—plop—Face-first to the grass beneath me, between my legs.

Eh… awkward.

What just happened? There was no way I would know, other than the fact that it must have been a sleep-inducing move. I did not mean to do that, but this other part of me did. I know he did it out of care, but it was somewhat deserved. At least, no more annoyances for now.

Still, I could not just leave him sprawled. I lifted him up and sat him back down at the tree he had chosen prior. There, hopefully it is enough.

I gazed at him for a while. Peaceful. Too peaceful. Maybe even cu—

…Enough.

And then it hit me. I forgot.

Oh no.

Chapter Text

“Ashen, Ashen!” I screamed, trying to wake the bastard up. This has been going on for about ten minutes.

I grabbed his armor by what looked like his shoulders—where his arms connected—and shook him with all my strength whilst trying to be careful not to slam him into the tree. Come on, sleepyhead!

Oh Arceus, (that is the god here is it not?) I hope he has not gone into a deep sleep yet, has he? Or worse, REM sleep!

I will damage him with my ability! I do not know how it works: does it only activate during REM sleep or throughout all stages of sleep? Regardless, one thing is for sure, he will dream during REM sleep!

His expression is clearly agitated; did he enter it this quick?!

…Okay, this is clearly not working. Maybe there is something in his sack…!

I stopped shaking him and rushed towards the stash. Chesto Berries cure sleep, no?

I scrambled, rather clueless. I only know that Chesto Berries are blue, but Oran Berries are also blue, are they not?

Aha, here it is! I think… It is shaped like a n—… uh… nonagonal bipyramid!—with a slight extrusion in its equator and a small nub at the apex. Its upper half is blue, the lower beige with more of a paraboloid cone shape.

I made a mess of his stash but whatever; this is an emergency! I turned around and shoved the berry into where his mouth would be. Wait, how does this work again? How does one swallow or chew on something while asleep?

Forget that! Maybe the taste will be enough.

The berry magically goes through Ashen’s ‘lips’, his neck then twitching slightly. Yes, he is finally stirring!

“ASHEN!” I let out a final shout.

“Hmm…? Quoi…? What…?” Ashen fluttered his eyes open lazily, his speech slow and his movement visibly groggy as he chomped on the berry. “What is this? Wait, no, don’t answer that…” He cancels—I guess he has figured that this is a Chesto Berry.

“Do you know how long I have been trying to wake you up?” I said, still a little frantic, but slowly calming down.

“ Non, but based on your tone… mm… way too long. Whazza matter? Yelling and all…”

“Do you even remember what happened?!” I shook him slightly once again to wake him up fully.

He twitched upward with his eyes opening fully, the usual spark in his eyes returning. “Oh, right. Ugh, my head hurts.” Still sitting down, he lets go of my grip on him, steadies himself and starts rubbing his temple.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“Well, yeah, I think so. Did you really put me to sleep over an apple?” He squints his eyes.

“I did not mean to do that. It just came out of me abruptly.”

My palms just acted on reflex, I suppose. I really did not, but that did do some good. I am trying to hide the slight happiness I am feeling but my nervous ‘smiling’ expression definitely betrays that.

From this, I can deduce that either of these is the case: REM sleep starts immediately when a Pokémon is artificially put to sleep—while it is normal if natural—or that Bad Dreams will cause nightmares regardless of the stage of sleep.

“…Yeah. Thanks for the nap…” He closes another eye, probably out of pain. “Tch.”

“I tried to wake you up as fast as I could, but…”

“Well, you could’ve slapped me! Didn’t have to waste my resources…” He rolled his eyes.

“I thought of it, but one, I did not know if you would be happy with that, and two, I am not that barbaric unlike some people.”

It would have been good payback for last time, nonetheless. Howbeit, this should be enough.

His eyes widened, probably realizing something. “Wait, you do care!” he exclaims, a grin starting to form on his face.

“What…” I trailed off, not knowing what to say. At least it—combined with my confused expression—was merely up for interpretation, not an admission nor a denial. But I need something to distract him from that fact, fast! He is dangerously easy to smile around.

“Well anyways, what was that move I used?”

“Probably Hypnosis. Didn’t seem like Dark Void. Guess that’s your last known move. Cool, I guess.” He looked to the side. I hope he is not still bitter about it, yet I could not stop my next words from slipping through.

“That is what you get for slapping me that time,” I muttered.

He somehow heard me. “You still remember that?” He chuckled. “Hey, I said sorry—wait, no I didn’t. Guess I owe you one now.” He glanced away to the side and slightly to the top, a ‘smile’ tugging at his ‘lips’ and eyes slanted in amused surrender.

“But that doesn't mean I won't return the favor again when I have to.”

I scoffed and went back to the tree I originally sat in. I can hear him snickering behind me, already a clear indicator that my attempts to distract him were futile.

But even then, it is also a sign that he has let it go already; my hopes came true for once, shockingly. Wait no—in hindsight, based on my observations, forgiving is the type of thing he would do.

But that last part though… Whatever. I am not scared by his threats. I doubt he will have to reciprocate it later anyway. 

I looked at him firmly. “Back to our main plan.” I then raised a hand as if I were explaining something to emphasize it. “Where should we go to find a bag?”

Ashen slightly looked down, hand under his chin. “Hm… I know a town near here.”

“Are you positive that that settlement has someone who sells a bag?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t they?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Shut up. I am just weighing everything. A good plan needs that. Now, do you have money or whatever currency is needed for trading in this world?"

“I dunno. Here, there’s no currency. We just do barters and what they want is… random.”

“…Okay. So we will see when we get there?” I looked down and ran a hand through my surprisingly soft ‘hair’. This is going to be fun…

“Yep.”

“We can go now, then.” I floated again, then gestured at his things, a hint to start packing up. I came over to help, because after all, I did make the mess.

After everything was set, we started moving, with me following slightly behind Ashen.

“Are you sure you know where we are going?”

“Of course. I lived there for quite a while, before…” He trailed off, his gaze becoming more blank after. “…before I set out on this journey.” He smiled, although it felt more forced than usual. Does this mean anything?

“How long will this take?”

“I dunno. Maybe an hour or so.”

Wow, he does not know a lot, although to be fair, I do know even less.

“Mind answering some questions?”

“Sur—! I mean, meh, there’s nothing better to do anyway.”

Weird, he sounded so excited before acting apathetic. Is he hiding something?

I hummed in approval. “So, these are related to how the world works. You should know…”

Now, what was I going to ask again? I recall that I had a lot.

“Where are our mouths?”

“Probably just invisible.”

That is the same thing as I expected, but at least it is corroboration. Now onto the next one…

“Do Power Points exist in this universe?”

“What’s that?”

Well, a great indicator that it does not, but still, it may be under a different name.

“In my world, well, Pokémon can only use a move a specific amount of times. Essentially, the energy required to perform a move.”

“Oh, well we don’t call it Power Points, but just like everything, we have a limit to how much energy we can use before getting too tired. It recharges during rest. I think that’s how it works for humans too, right?”

“Mhm, pretty much.”

A pause.

“How does the biology of Pokémon work?”

“We… uh, look. I’m not a professor, okay? All I know is that we eat, evolve, use moves, breathe weird. That’s biology for ya.” He then jerks his head toward me. “Wait, you’re the one who broods all the time, so why don’t you try explaining the theory? ‘Cause I’ve only got vibes.” He vaguely gestures to the sky, either as if it held answers or to visualize ‘vibes’.

“Helpful,” I replied sarcastically in a rising-falling tone. “What about held items?”

Ashen raised a brow. “Oh, those? There are tons of them, but in general, some are natural, some are crafted. Natural ones are like, y’know, evolution stones, Eviolites, King’s Rocks, and whatnot. They can be found very rarely in Flux Zones. But the others, well, I just know they’re made, not sure how. Like, I just once saw some guy attaching the red lenses to a frame of some Choice Specs, not sure how that’s made. Maybe a tree. Who knows?”

“…Ah yes, a frame-growing tree.”

“Hey, I said maybe and ‘who knows’. I don’t question when a literal metal claw gives me a critical hit boost, alright? I just accept it.”

Wow, how shallow. I have always believed that type of mindset—blind acceptance, including obedience—would lead to a stagnant life, although I am sure there is no point in dwelling upon scientific—not philosophical—questions with no possible answer.

I stared. “…Sure.”

He huffs and shrugs. “What can I say? Told ya I’m no professor.”

I am hopeless, but still, Ashen’s point is valid.

“Can you lose held items mid-battle?”

“Yeah. You gotta wear, or in this case hold them securely.”

Game logic never makes sense.

“How does one forget moves?”

“Hmm, we do technically forget moves after we learn one while also knowing four already—for a reason only Arceus knows—but I’ve never seen it like that. It’s more like… progression? We, like, just get the better version of the move we ‘forgot’ about. For example, Ember to Flamethrower. Guessing you’ll forget Hypnosis soon when you learn Dark Void.”

“Mhm… Looking forward to that day. By the way, how does accuracy work here? In my world, Dark Void only has 50% accuracy.”

“50%?! That is ludicrous, man. That just means you’re literally competitively the worst Mythical ever and that your ability is useless. Imagine when the god of nightmares can’t even put a Togepi to sleep. Pfft!” He snorts. I do not know if he is mocking me or the game developers of my world.

“Ha ha. Very funny. Now one thing, hmm, did you answer my question?” It was not funny at all.

“Oh right! Nah, the accuracy of all moves here depend on your aim. Maybe there are a few outliers here and there but I can't name one right now.”

“Well, that's great. What about priority?”

“Priority?”

“Well, here that just means whether or not the move will be prioritized to be used first, or last if it is negative, regardless of speed. Does that exist? Moves like… Shadow Sneak.”

“Oh, well, sounds accurate. Like you said, yeah, Shadow Sneak is naturally performed faster, while Trick Room… You might want to take a nap while someone does that move. But nah, we have no such measurement as ‘priority’. I'm guessing here it just translates to how fast the move is usually performed or something. Of course, you can still train to make it faster or—for whatever reason—slower since it's flexible like accuracy.”

“Good to know. Turns?”

“Your world makes us go in turns? That's like, so boring mate. Guess.”

“There are no turns here.”

“Yeah, turns are for board games. This is survival.” He stretches his arms and cracks the ‘knuckles’ on his fingerless hands. “Nobody’s gonna tell me when I can punch.”

“You do not even know Fire Punch. Shush. Anyways, that is… unfair.”

“So’s life, darling.” He grins. “Feel free to unleash your inner chaos whenever you feel like it. Who's gonna stop us? Unless you're a goody two shoes who’s gotta protect your honor by playing fair!”

I am not, but I do not want to disappoint even myself. But fine, so be it. Time to see what I can really do.

Yes, I have always been bound by social expectations and everything.

Also, for his question, only your conscience can, but I was too lazy to answer.

He cackles. “Exactly. No one.”

“Mmm… yeah, yeah. Actual animals?”

“We are the actual animals.”

“Then where do you get words like ‘fish’ from?”

“Uhh… never questioned it, y’know. If I had to guess, to put it shortly, they are just words we used to group Pokémon with a perceived similarity. For example Barraskewda, Basculin, Magikarp, and whatnot, all have fins and live in water and swim and have this ovoid shape.”

Makes sense. I would not want to go describing a Yamper as ‘that cream-furred quadruped with sharp teeth and a wagging tail that pants constantly, has two relatively triangular ears and makes an ‘arf’ sound sometimes’. Still, it feels odd to use words referring to things that have never existed here, or have they?

“But how do you get words like ‘chicken’ or ‘dolphin’ when there is literally only one evolutionary line of Pokémon that resembles it?”

“They’re still more than one Pokémon, aren't they? It's still a group.”

“So you define entire animal categories based on… less than four examples? This does not…” My brain is on meltdown right now.

“Well, let's just say that these words existed first from an unknown source. Nobody has seen what a ‘dolphin’ or ‘chicken’ is based on your definition, but maybe these words survived from old stories or something. Maybe these were real things that roamed this world back when us Pokémon didn’t exist yet… Maybe Arceus even went to your universe, took some inspiration, created it based on them, and told whatever Pokémon came first to spread the knowledge. Turns out they did pretty well, huh? Language's weird.”

“Do you not have linguists here?”

“I dunno. I'm pretty sure they do but I'm definitely not one.”

“…That much is clear.” I sighed. But even though my brain is fried, I could not stop myself from asking more. “Then where do our species names come from?”

“Oof, you're really going for it now, huh?” He rubbed his head, possibly just as short-circuited as I am. “Wait, you humans have names for animals too, right? Where'd they come from?”

“Yeah…?” Okay, I see where this is going. “Well, we just name a newly discovered species. There are also stories where the creator of my world told the first settlers of my world to assign names to the other living beings too…”

Ashen clapped his hands. “Then that might just be it! Yeah, the first creatures of our world probably named it. Maybe Arceus himself or a delegate named all of us too. And I think, before we learned to speak a specific language, we all just shouted our species names.”

That makes sense, again. But— wait, damn… it. I just opened another rabbit hole. Where do the language names come from? I could either stop talking ere I completely turn my brain into mush or keep going.

“What is this language called, by the way?” I have decided that uncovering truths is more rewarding than my own safety.

“English, duh. How did you not know that when you speak it yourself?”

“That is not my actual question.” I sneered at him. “I had figured that out already; now I am just asking for confirmation before I could ask it. What I wanted to ask was, where did you get the word ‘English’? And, do other languages exist? Where are their names derived from?”

“There are other languages, yeah. Here we have arbitrarily marked cultural regions without an actual border like England—which is where we got ‘English’ from, for your information, France, Germany, and so on…”

My eyes widened. Those are real places from my world… but I am certain everything is still decentralized nevertheless.

Ashen seems to have caught on to it. “Those are places from your world too?”

I nodded.

“That’s interesting. Pretty sure everything works differently there though, haha.”

“Yeah, it is quite dull.”

“Good thing you came here, no? Anyways, some towns have weird dialects, some people write stuff only the population of their own hometown can read, but English is just the common one.”

“So it is a lingua franca?”

“Gesundheit,” Ashen replied vacuously.

“One, I am confident that that is not how you pronounce it, and two, that was not a sneeze.”

“Could've mistaken it for one,” Ashen retorted.

What is this nonsense? Having more sharp-witted people would be fun, but then…

I am well aware I have been asking too many questions, but if nobody asks, how will I understand anything in this bizarre world? Besides, Ashen does not seem to mind—maybe even enjoys it, even if he tried to hide his enthusiasm when I started.

“By the way, do you know London? Paris?”

“No, never heard of that. You're asking if our settlement names match your world’s? No siree.”

Well, I am glad the resemblance stops there. This opens more problems logistically, but we can figure that out later, since the main topic is how the world works.

I turned to Ashen—“And now…”—just as I realized he had stopped walking.

“Hey,” he said to grab my attention. “We're… here.” He let out a soft sigh. I looked ahead again, to see that we had arrived.

Well, I was just about to get into the last and definitely most innocuous part. How convenient.

I suppose this is what an hour feels like. To be frank, I can not determine if this is longer or shorter than what I expected because, on one hand, I am delighted to have satiated ‘most’ of my curiosity, whereas on the other, my brain lagged very intensely.

Standing at the mouth of the dirt trail, the town stood before us.

There was no gate—just a transition from the dry earth to uneven, yet smooth, irregularly-arranged stones impressed into the pavement. The winding roads split and curved with no clear pattern.

The sprawling town looked old; everything looked literally desaturated, possibly as an effect of the Catastrophe, yet well maintained. The classic buildings were relatively thin, with slanted roofs and some chimneys occasionally poking out.

The area was quiet, but not exactly empty either. You could say the activity here is passive. Not much chatter, no music, no lights. Feels like this place is stuck in time. After the Catastrophe, I guess people lost the fire to enjoy life.

Succinctly, a medieval European town.

For a town presumably built after the Catastrophe, it is surprisingly ‘tranquil’. Pokémon go about their day ordinarily.

Time loops might sound terrifying in theory, but most living beings seem unaffected. Life always finds a way to adapt. Or maybe, it pretends to.

Still, the signs are there. All doors are slightly ajar, no one daring to close them—which is very odd, yet understandable. This must be what he meant by the resetting objects. How… risky.

Do people not steal here? Or are they too focused on their own survival to care what belongs to someone else, but only to them?

Finishing my observations, something stunned me. I was able to continue riding my train of thoughts smoothly without getting interrupted, somehow. I wonder why we have not started moving yet. Is there something wrong?

The town not interrupting us is probably to be expected, since I have just been examining it in silence—combined with the indifference of the populace, while Ashen…

Wait, Ashen? Right, he is the one supposed to be interrupting me!

I turned to Ashen—frozen, still seemingly contemplating something. He just looked down, limbs stiff.

“Do you have history here?”

He twitched up. I must have broken his thread. “Huh?! Oh.” He shrugged. “Yeah, who doesn't? Now c'mon, let's go find the merchant.” He started walking.

That was fast. Almost too fast, as if he has been preparing this by having taken the chance to plan everything while I was lost in my cerebration.

Some of the townsfolk turned to us as we entered the settlement, possibly only now noticing our arrival after hearing that little talk.

Whispers of the townsfolk could be heart but were indistinct. Some glanced at us before turning around just as quickly. Something tells me they were not pleasant.

“…Well they remember me. That’s good, right?”

“It does not seem so.”

Someone shrieked and screamed, “He’s back—with a monster!”

If I were a monster, I would have destroyed this place already. I am not—

The mutters rose to some sort of dull roar—the type you would hear in a regular marketplace, except that it is laced with panic. I looked down, holding my other arm in nervousness. I am trying to ignore these people, but…

Ashen wrapped an arm around my back, this time more like a worried uncle, still off-putting withal. I shook my head at him.

A small rock thudded beneath me, but I was far too focused on other things to have focused on it. I moved my hand to rub my temple instead now.

Another one flew right in front of me. It would have hit me if only I did not flinch. I paused, turning to the source and saw a frightened Arbok. I started floating yonder, slowly reaching an arm out, before Ashen held my shoulders, shaking his head.

I nodded and continued focusing on the path ahead; or at least, tried. I do not know why I did that. I was just drawn in. Maybe I was curious, maybe I was hurt, maybe I wanted to defend myself…

My heart beat faster as I processed the disapproving gazes and scrutinizing mutters. Why does this feel so familiar? Nothing has happened directly to us—except that. Not the words, not the place, but the feeling, but why does it hurt so much, as if the air was screaming ‘You’re not wanted here’?

“Look who’s back.”

“Wait, isn’t that a Darkrai?”

“Wasn’t he gone for good? How did he return?!”

“I can’t believe he brought it to our safe haven!”

…There are lots of stands nearby. One of their awnings is red with white stripes. It sells only… two varieties of berries, with only a few left in stock, although the shopkeeper seems to be gone—

“I knew that Armarouge was bad luck!”

“Tried to play the hero, but he just showed up with who almost ended the world last time!”

“Didn’t he say he’d save us?”

“He’s dooming us all instead!”

Maybe they are right. Why do I even exist? I do not deserve to be when all I do is ruin everything. Ashen is just dragging down dead weight— No, that is not irrational. Snap out of it, Cael!

“I knew this was going to happen. He always had his head in the clouds anyway…”

“Still no bag? …Impressive.”

“Yep, didn’t even remember to bring a bag with him. I would’ve told him, but he left already.”

“Poor guy. Chasing a worthless dream like it owes him something.”

“Well, I know he means well. Too bad that’s meaningless nowadays.”

I do not recall this moment, but something in me seems to.

This is worse than public speaking. Everyone is not only watching but expressing their judgments, raw, their stares crawling up my back. I clenched my claws with no podium to rest my hands on, my breathing labored. My legs would be shaking right now if I were using them.

That was all I could focus on, every other sensation drowned, as everything started getting shrouded in darkness, my claws already digging into my head subconsciously. I closed my eyes forcefully. This is too much…! I…

“Ser Ashen! Have you saved the world yet?” A presumably young Espurr asked excitedly, tugging at Ashen’s hands. The sudden voice cut through my haze like a pin through fabric.

“Ah… no, not yet. But trust that it’ll happen!” He flexes an arm and fakes the usual joyful curves.

“Who’s that with you?”

“He’s my friend. Say hi!” He then whispers very quickly, “_{Act nice!}”

“Hello! Wait, aren’t you the scary monster from the books?” She tilts her head curiously. How… brutally honest.

“I… uh, well…” I trailed off, unable to find the right explanation. I know this will be a quick conversation so there will not even be enough time to summarize it nor explain it in full detail!

“No, I am n—”

I was cut off by her mom, rushing towards her with her dad following behind. “Lina!”

Arriving, she grabbed Lina’s arm and softly scolds her. “Don’t run off like that! Come on, let’s go.”

We stared in silence as her parents pulled her away, ignoring her protests in the distance. “Wait! He doesn’t look evil—just sad!”

Children are quite…— I am at a loss of words. What was that?

Of course, that is what you do with monsters.

Just before we started to walk, a Bibarel stopped us in our tracks, my heart skipping a beat. His attitude was general, but it reminded me of someone.

“Well, well, well. Seems like nobody is happy to see you back, huh?” He stood up at us.

He squared up to Ashen—well, looked up to him, technically, but his voice was all smug superiority, almost as if he waited for this very moment. For someone so short, the arrogance is… there.

“…Chark.” Ashen stared down at him, clearly disliking him, but then forced a smile regardless. “Hey, bud. Didn’t throw a rock? How touching.”

Chark clicked his buck teeth confidently. “That’s because the town already did that for me.”

Ashen, understandably, did not reply. He swapped his smile for the more natural tense gaze he has been hiding.

“So?” he continued. “What’s the plan this time? Didn’t get enough disappointment last time?”

How is this acceptable?

“I’ve always got hope to spare.” Ashen shrugged.

“Keep dreaming, wannabe hero.” That jerk then shot a glance at me. “But what do we have here? How ironic… For dreaming so much, you brought us this… souvenir.”

I am not anyone’s souvenir. Why does everyone…

“Always showing up when the mood is dying, to kill it even more… Pssh. We’re just here for a bag. Unless you’re selling one, or have anything better to say, then just leave. Go gnaw on a fence post or something.”

He chuckles, backing off sluggishly. “Hey, be thankful I let you know what everyone else’s thinking. Good luck then, I hope your ‘partner’ doesn’t end the world before you save it. Not saying you even could.” He snorted as I lifted my head up again and saw him walking away, disappearing back into the crowd.

I did not realize this but I have been looking down the whole time. …Yes, the roughness of the stones are always a nice sight.

I feel bad for Ashen. Sure, sometimes he is empty-headed, but he does not deserve this. I wish I could have defended him. I wish I could comfort him now, say something, be brave, but I am at a loss of words. How does he manage to keep smiling when he is treated like this?

“C’mon,” he said flatly. His expression visibly tenses more compared to previously where it was just the chatter of the resident bothering us. So this is… it.

“Sorry,” I apologized for whatever reason, a drop of sweat on my temple. It is just that everyone puts Ashen down because of me. I should have stayed back—hidden, not come here. I should have known—

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it; it wasn’t about you,” he said, although it was not laced with the same lightness I usually hear from him.

Did he accept it? He is not mad at me when I am all there is to blame. I did hope he would take it well, but I did not expect it. He is paying all of the price now, and despite everyone’s fear of me, it is just mockery. Why has he not picked someone else by now? What is he doing? What am I doing?

“But…”

“No,” he said bluntly, a cue for me to just accept it.

We continued forward. I know they are scared because I would be too, but why do we not have any appreciation for Ashen’s efforts? 

The prattle from the inhabitants started dying out, either because they are actually learning basic politeness or if my brain is just muting everything. My ‘ears’ felt staticky—like I was underwater. I doubt it was the former, though. Who knows what’s real anymore?

At last, Ashen brought me to a shop—likely the most renowned around here. Good. Something else to focus on. Finally.

This building looked like any other in town—a thin but long shape, and tall with a slightly slanted roof. The left side had an open full glass door, while the rest of it was the shop’s heart—an opening encased in a gray wooden frame, a counter made of dark blue-purple metallic scrap metal placed slightly in front of it.

Beside the counter were two pillars made of the same material as the frame, supporting the overhang also made of scrap metal—warped and patchy yet still structurally integral, this time more of a silverish gray hue. Where are they getting these from? The colors complement each other surprisingly well.

Inside the building was a Corviknight, cleaning shelves with a feather duster clutched awkwardly in their wings. Organized racks and crates lined the interior, neatly stacked with items I could not name—and consumables for everyone to see.

I assume one is not meant to enter, nonetheless. Towards the back, stairs climbed into darkness, probably leading to more storage or his living area; I assume it is the former, since this building appears to consist of three floors.

An A-frame sign on the right read:

Welcome to

CORVIKNIGHT’S GOODS

NO HAGGLING!

Or get out.

Simple and efficient, characteristic of merchants. For someone seemingly so sharp though, there is an endearing little icon of a Corviknight’s head beside the last line.

I have noticed that hovering takes a bit more energy than if you were to move while floating, so I extended my appendages again to stand. It felt more secure this way too. Perhaps having to steady yourself midair is what makes it more tiring.

“Mister Corven!” Ashen called out.

“Hm?” The shadow turned around and started approaching the counter. “Ashen,” Corven greeted flatly. “Back already. Finally remembered that you needed a bag?”

“Eeyup. Surprised I lasted this long?”

“No.” He eyed me like a scanner. “I am surprised you came back with baggage.”

Upon hearing his tone and voice, I can tell why he did not need security measures. He was the security. He did not seem particularly afraid of me, although it was not an approving look either.

I raised a brow at Ashen.

“Uh, yeah. Now back to what we need: a bag. Something sturdy, explorer-tier.”

“Bags here are a luxury.” He points a wing at the shelves. “Most of them are gone already. I’ve only got one reinforced satchel. See, Ashen, this is why you need to start making smarter decisions.”

He is right, though.

“…Sorry about that!” Ashen rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “By the way, can we see it?”

“Just wait here,” he said almost exasperatedly, although that seems to be his default intonation. He turned around and drew closer to one of the shelves, prior to grabbing the satchel by its handle with his wings. After, he placed it on the counter for us to inspect. “Go ahead.”

I leaned a little bit closer to examine the ‘bag’.

It was a brown satchel made out of faded leather, sturdily stitched together by some black rope, the base reinforced with some kind of hardened bark or maybe the scrap metal—representative of the shop's motifs.

It had some extra pouches stitched on all sides, presumably to separate berries, held items, tools, and whatever else explorers carry.

I could see why this was the last one left; it looked old and weathered, like it had a lot of history of usage and refurbishing, but it was clearly still reliable. At least, I hope my instincts are right.

“Looks nice enough. Where else can we get a bag, after all?” I breathed to Ashen.

“Sure,” he replied to me just as softly, before raising his voice to normal. “What’s for this?”

“Trade.” He opened a wing, “Grab me something from a Flux Zone, give it to me, and I’ll give you this bag. It will not be easy. Up for it?” Then folded it back in.

“Certainly.”

They speak about Flux Zones like it was routine. Is it not dangerous? I should be more alarmed… should I not?

“Alright. Since I'm mindful, what type of flux shield orb do you have right now?”

“I have some but the only one I have two of right now are Ice flux shield orbs. Gotta bring my partner with me, you know?” Ashen elbowed while looking at me—though with those massive pauldrons of his, it was more like getting tapped by the lid of a heated kettle—warm, smooth, hard, and metallic. Eesh.

“Okay. Listen closely, kiddo. Bring me: one Never-Melt Ice, enough Ground flux shards to make a Ground flux shield orb, and one of each of these berries: Aspear, Yache, Ganlon, and Pomeg. Got that?” Corven explained. Hearing people list things aloud is… oddly jarring.

I do not know what most of these are—except flux shards, but it is understandable why he did not expound on what these are for me. 

Even if we found them, could we carry it back here? Time to bother— ask Ashen about both of those later.

“Mhm! Thank you Mister Corven, we'll be back in no time.” Ashen saluted before turning around, walking away as he flicked his wrist outward casually. “ Adios! ” 

I looked at Ashen for a bit, then slightly nodded at Corven too, following Ashen to catch up with him.

“Wait. You need to explain things to me first.”

“Yeah, I know. We gotta find an inconspicuous bench first.” He tilted his head to me.

And so, we started walking to find somewhere to sit and discuss. The gossip has halted entirely, although we were not free from those glances.

After the distraction of Corven’s shop, with only looks for now, my muscles have relaxed. Since when…? I have only realized now, per usual.

After a short ‘walk’, we found an empty seat and… sat down—of course, looking at each other. For the first time not doing so on the ground, it feels new.

“Are we going to go right away?”

“Don’t you want some rest first?”

“If I stayed here, I think I might become a criminal here.”

He sighed and touched the back of his neck, his expression rather resigned. “Oh, right.” He must have wished to do something while we were here.

“…Sorry,” I said for the second time.

“No, its fine. Saving the world is way more important, right?” he said with a grin, back to his usual expression.

“I guess… So we will only stay here for the most important questions.”

I will save my curiosities for later.

Ashen hummed.

“So, first, what are those items he mentioned?”

“Well, Never-Melt Ice is a chunk of ice—obviously, which boosts Ice-type attacks. Held item, of course. It looks like…” Ashen swung his arm up and traced the shape of the Never-Melt Ice: a mountain with three crests and one peak. “Don't confuse it for regular ice. I think it's shinier.”

“Okay…”

“Now, for the berries! Aspear Berries are just pale greenish-yellow balls with green rings while Yache Berries just look like… a blue spherical crystal. Ganlon Berries just look like blueberry tarts, then finally Pomeg Berries just look like these…”—he draws the shape of a cone with a spherical base—“cones which are red and kinda drippy. You'll recognize it when you see it.” He winks.

He really just moved on, huh? After everything? After the stares, the whispers? I wish I could…— Where are the words I need right now? Nevermind.

“The flux shards just look like crystal shards, am I correct?”

“Yup. Predictable, huh?”

“To an extent. Now, do you know where the nearest Ice Flux Zones are?”

“Yep! There's one up north. I mean, it's pretty recognizable—the sky there is tinted a sky blue.”

“Any other ones?”

“Why?”

“Ashen, I am positive that we will not get Ground flux shards immediately. As far as I am aware, the Ice type is also super-effective against Flying-types, and some others.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, it’s also super-effective against Dragon-types, although those don't exist… but anyways, no, I don't know any others, heheh… What do you suggest, master planner?”

What a title. My eyes widened slightly at that, maybe out of disbelief, amusement, delight, or a combination of those.

“Okay, wait, are those the types without a dedicated—” No, Cael. Priorities. “—Nevermind. Anyways, I propose that we should just return here to ask for directions or a map after our first exploration, yeah?” My voice dropped to a murmur. “ As much as I shun this town… ”

“Sounds good. And also, hehey…! I'm sure they just didn't know you that well. They'll probably love—!”

“No! Ashen, stop—” I snapped and jerked up suddenly. “…it.” Why did I do that?! The moment cracked out of me. I should apologize to him—

“Ah… my bad.”

No, why did he apologize prior to me?! Well, no ‘sorry’s from me now then. It would be the right thing to do, but I do not want to turn it into an endless back-and-forth of apologies.

I wanted to take it back, but my mouth moved faster than my mind, yet now it will not budge. It was like I was trying to stop myself from hearing something too kind to believe—which it is.

I cleared my throat. “Should we go now…?”

Suddenly, a soft voice yelled, “Ashen!”

Turning around, I saw a Gardevoir hastily yet elegantly approaching us. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“Oh, Mederry?” Ashen’s eyes lit up seeing her. “Hi hi! So nice to see you again!”

“Likewise, Ashen.” Arriving, Mederry stood in front of us with a gentle smile, hands politely clasped. “What brings you back here? How are things going?”

“I forgot to bring a bag, so I came back for one, eheh. Things were so-so before”—he wobbled his hand palm-up in the air—“but it seems to be turning out well.” Look at what who I've brought with me!” He wrapped a hand around my back.

“Ahah, yes. I forgot to remind you about that. Still sorry I couldn't come with you though.”

“Don't sweat it! You're a very important figure in town.”

“I suppose so, but over time I do get bored… Anyways, who's that beside you…? A… Darkrai? How did you meet him?”

“Oh, this guy? Say hello!” Ashen told her.

“Hiya. Nice to meet you.” Her eyes curled into the usual semicircles with eyebrows slanting outward—understandably so—as she raised a palm at me, waving slightly. I imagine someone would be rather bashful when being around a Mythical Pokémon in such an unceremonious occasion.

“Greetings. The same goes to you too.” Flat. As always…

“This is my partner-in-crime here! He always looks brooding but that's just his usual antics. Don't mind it; don’t be fooled! He has a big heart, you know!” He spread his arms open.

Mederry chuckled. “I’ve always thought so!”

“I met him randomly while exploring. A human-turned-Pokémon again. Hah, can't believe I'd see the day. Go introduce yourself.” He winked at me while smirking.

What did he just call me—? Wait, no! I am bad at introductions! Uh…

“Okay… yes. My name is Cael. C-A-E-L. I am a Darkrai, as you can see… not that I know why. I can assure you I am not that malignant Darkrai which I presume caused something similar to this in the past; I heard a little bit about it from Ashen.”

“Oh, I’d love to hear your story later! You seem to be in a hurry. So, as you probably know, I’m Mederry. I’m the town’s only local medic and Ashen’s good friend.”

“Interesting. Why did you not go with him?”

“Well, unlike most townsfolk, I have faith in him. I’m sure you must too! But alas, my job needs me to stay here all the time, even when there are no concurrent patients so I can be ready whenever.”

Ashen commented. “By the way, why were you in such a rush to see us?”

“Of course because I’ve missed you, Ashen. It’s been weeks…” She tilted her head slightly. “I heard of your return here from all the commotion.”

“Why did it stop? Was it because of you?” Ashen perceptively asked, stuttering my thoughts. So… he noticed it too? I was not imagining anything, but that means my guesses were not true after all. My chest tightened, because somehow, that only unsettles me more.

( “Yeah! It was the least I could do for my friend.” )

I never know anything. I never know what I feel. If I cannot trust what I sense, what else have I been wrong about…? Myself…?

(“ Aw, thank you! So sweet of you, as always. I was kinda worried for…” )

No, Cael. Maybe it was just a combination of all the possibilities. You never know, right? It is not always black and white.

( “Cael?” )

Right.

“Cael, are you there?” Ashen asked again.

I bounced sharply. “H-huh? Oh. Yes, yes I am.”

“…Right. Alright, time to go now then. Nice talking to you, Derry! See ya.” Ashen stood up and took his bindle again. I may not have mentioned it last time, but it is still there. It has always been. For a moment, I worried I had forgotten or even imagined something as basic as that. But no, I still remember the things I see. Good.

“So soon? Wow, you guys must be so resilient! I wish you luck on your adventures. Come stay at my place anytime whenever you come back!”

“Will do, yup yup!” Ashen flicked his fingers toward himself, a cue for me to start walking. That being so, we started departing. He waved, thrilled, with Mederry reciprocating it.

I did so more faintly. “Farewell, Mederry.”

The peeps were still there, but there is not something I could do about it. I tried to ignore it, and what better way than to look at the ground?

Okay, so about what Ashen called me. ‘Brooding, big heart’? That is mortifyingly accurate. I want to believe that. I would like to think so; I have always hoped I would be described like that someday, for some reason. Not whatever else people around me think.

I try, but I do not always know how, where, or when. I hope it is enough.

It is strange to hear someone say it out loud like that as if it was… obvious, especially since it is improbable for someone to read me this early. Yet, it felt unusually comforting. It was the first time I felt seen, but not…

The words have disappeared—forget it. I still do not know my opinion on Ashen's description, though.

…

Anyways, the first real adventure has begun. Hooray.

Chapter Text

The ascending path ahead was as dull as ever. I could see the Ice flux zone far into the mountains, marked by the light blue tinting of the sky around it.

I turned my head around, the town began shrinking as we traveled together. That place was unpleasant; what a relief. I let out a soft exhale before looking forward again, thinking of what I should say and/or ask Ashen. 

Both my energy to socialize and think are spent, but still, there are some things I would really like—or perhaps even need—to know, sadly. Hm, what should I know?

“Ashen.”

“Yeah?”

“How long do these shields last?”

“About eight hours, I think. Maybe give”—he raised his free hand—”or take,”—and lowered it before letting it fall back to his side a bit slowly, slightly unnatural.

“And how do we know when it has been eight hours?”

“Oh, simple. These shields neatly glow every thirty minutes or so to remind us. So just pay attention and count how many times it has glowed. In normal conditions, after fifteen glows… or maybe fourteen if you’re feeling like playing it safe, yeah. That’s your sign to start finding the way out. When it’s been eight hours?” Ashen brought his hands closer together and made a sharp, popping motion. “Pop! Reduced to atoms.”

Sounds… simple enough. At least, I hope it is. But ’normal conditions’? What are the abnormal conditions?

“How convenient.”

“Hey, aren’t you the maths guy? Maybe you could be the one keeping track!” he suggested out of the blue. Quite inane.

I suppose he guessed seeing my ‘nerdy’ attitude.

“No. Let us just do it together. Have you not noticed how I…?”

“Right!” He knocked lightly against his temple, grinning sheepishly. “Heheh. Silly me.”

“What should I expect from these flux zones?”

“Well, with the shields, you’re mostly protected, although in the Ice ones you can still feel some of the snowy air. It should look like your regular winter wonderland, but be careful! I think it’ll be very dangerous.”

I snapped my head suddenly. “What do you mean? ‘You think’? You mean you have never been here before?”

“I can’t possibly know everything, okay!” Ashen blurted a little too fast as he defended himself. I’ve never gone to all of the flux zone types.” He hesitated before shrugging, face almost like forcing a smile that did not quite reach his pointy red-yellow ‘ears’. “That’s just the part of adventuring here, the thrill!” He clenched his fist, flexed his arm toward himself, and pulled it back sharply, eyes squeezed in triumph. “Everyone has to go through it anyway, relax.”

How… ostentatious.

“I can not relax after knowing that information, thank you very—”

“Nah, we’ve got each other by our sides!” he cut me off quickly and patted my shoulders clumsily, like a…— I do not know anymore. It seemed very rushed.

“Sure…”

I wiped away a loose drop of sweat. People mention ‘preparing mentally’, but that is never feasible if you do not know what will happen in the future, and thus, how you should react to or anticipate it.

This is a new life I am assuming, and I can not afford to lose it so quickly! What if the shield breaks suddenly? What if I count wrong? Lose track of it? What would happen if I got lost? Still inside when the shield breaks?

No. We have Ashen here. He is experienced, right?

I can only hope for the best and imagine if I had plot armor.

I turned back to him, still walking, looking straight ahead. Normally, his posture, most visibly seen through his shoulder area—not that he has one—is relaxed, but this time, it unusually felt more rigid.

Is he trying to pose like a hero on an epic, important quest, or does this mean something else entirely?

“What do you expect there?” I asked.

“Maybe blizzards, avalanches, icicle spears, hail… yeah. Basic ice stuff. …Heh.” He paused. “Don’t worry about it.” He twirled his hand loosely beside his head as he listed the plausible disasters. “Perhaps some other spatial anomalies too.”

My breathing shallowed. I am going to mess up. I am going to— No. Not helpful. Just focus and hope for the best, like you did in days past.

“Such as…?”

I took a deep breath to ground myself again. This will be fine, alright?

“Uh, probably the usual—places folding into themselves, paths that bring you right back to the start, gravity going nuts, and so on. Not everything is anomalous though, okay? From what I’ve noticed, some of the anomalies are universal, and others are exclusive.”

I hummed equivocally. On one side, this might be a thrilling experience; this is not the kind of thing you experience every day in the human world, after all. On the other, this could be life-threatening, really.

My heartbeat surged until it found a rapid, steady pace. Is this what Ashen meant by the thrill? Truthfully, I am still more worried. Hopefully my flying powers will come in handy.

“By the way, what is the name of that town?”

“Gleisien town. Why?”

“Just wanted to know.”

That sounds… I do not know, German?

“By the way, where in the world are we?”

“I think…”—he snapped his fingerless hands, albeit soundlessly—”Helvetia.” It came out more like him rubbing salt or some other sort of spice very briefly.

How strange; I am sure he knows his body well enough. Did he really think he could snap with his oven mitts or does he just have a peculiar fondness for that?

Anyways, I do not recognize that name—probably the name of somewhere in Europe around the Germany region. Must be a historical name.

“Okay… I see. Do you even think we can carry all of that stuff back without a bag?”

“Meh, we got this.” He raises his sack for emphasis.

“So we have to remove everything in that if we want to bring it back?”

“We could cram them.” He raised a hand.

I guess it does still have room for more.

“…Right. How long will this trek take?”

“I dunno. I know about it but I’ve never gone there. No map, sorry!” He tilted a head towards me.

Well, this is bad. I know that time does not matter since one will know when they have arrived somewhere when they do, but…

Wait, no. That is stupid. Knowing ETAs are crucial. Without it, how can you prepare? How do you even begin to manage expectations? This uncertainty is… unsettling.

Okay. What else is on my mind? He did once mention that there are too many things to know about flux zones which should be saved for later. What was it about?

…Aha.

Yes, I have decided that ‘later’ means now.

“By the way, what were those types you mentioned that did not have their own flux zones?”

His posture relaxed again after I stopped talking about the zone expedition—at least, directly, although my heart is still throbbing.

“Hmm, I think they were…” He looked up, thinking. “Normal, Fighting, Dragon, and Bug…” He nodded to himself afore looking at me. “Yep, that’s it!”

“Why is that so?” I looked at him expectantly.

I could guess why these types did not get their own zone, but I do not mind an explanation—so long as it keeps me from boredom. And luckily, as much as his explanations are sometimes dumb, they are an acceptable way to pass the time; it is much better than silence. Somehow, there is a certain… charm—some merit—to it.

Time to see what he comes up with.

“Well, as I said, we don’t know why these exist in the first place. But my theory is that, I think, the types of these zones are determined by what the mystery dungeon before it was all about, you know? Like, seaside and lake Dungeons would become Water zones, volcanoes become Fire ones, windy areas become Flying zones, and so on. I guess there’s nothing those types just… had nothing for the zones to go off of, y’know?”

“I see. While we are at it—again—what about those with one of those as their primary typing, too?”

He let out a shaky laugh. “I’m not one of them. I dunno, heh… I just never thought of asking.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly I don’t remember why I was that oblivious. I think that maybe… I mostly let everything sit at the back of my mind until you came. Nobody brought it up that much so it didn’t feel important. I figured they’d worked something out on their own—but I guess forgot to ask the ‘how’. I care, okay? Maybe… maybe we should try to find that out when we come back.”

“I suppose so. But still, surprisingly ignorant. For someone like you, I mean.”

He flinched. “I said, I care, okay? C’mon, this isn’t what I’m all about! Look, I’ll make sure nothing like this happens again, just for you, grouch.”

What a nickname.

I nodded slowly. “…Okay. You better hold on to that.”

I stopped subsequently, not sure how to respond further. He somehow made it make sense, in its own way; indeed, it is easy to ignore the questions you never need to ask, until someone else finally asks them.

That promise and how he only realized ‘until I came’ meant something. I am not sure what, but it did.

After some time of letting the moment hang around, he giggled. “Wait, Cael, hear me out. Imagine a Normal flux zone. You get trapped in a giant flatland of gray dirt and maybe some stones.” He swept his left arm dramatically across the air, from right to left. “Oh, the horror!” To emphasize it, he pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, scrunching his eyes in an exaggerated form of mock despair before opening his eyes back and dropping his arm back to his side again. 

“What would you do if you trip on one of ‘em? Get dirt on that ripped cloak body of yours?” He gestured broadly towards my lower half. “So scary!” He feigned a shiver while wiggling his ‘fingers’ in the air.

That is a lot of gestures. I grumbled.

“Ha ha… Very funny, Ashen,” I said in a deadpan tone. Despite my emotionless expression, I could not help but find it slightly amusing. It would be ridiculous, truly. But he will not be able to read me so easily, right?

“I know it is! C’mon, you can’t tell me you’re laughing inside, do you?”

“No, I am not.” It was a half-lie. 

On one hand, yes, I am entertained, but as it happens, I do not know how to internalize my emotions at all, so if I was laughing inside, I would on the outside, right? After all, when every flicker of emotion was once a mistake to be ridiculed for, it is hard to imagine otherwise.

‘When’? Right, when? I have never been mocked for my emotions so far here. I am sure Ashen is just playing around, so I would not consider it that. He is, right?

He must be. He has not done anything to make me doubt him. Well, yet. There is always that to everything.

Maybe it is too early to say for sure. As evident from my time at the town, I am not a reliable judge at all. Still… I want to believe him. This is confusing.

On the bright side, I am still very pleased with my absence of a mouth.

“You so are!” He chuckled. “Trust me, Cael. One day, someone’s gonna write a tragedy about the poor soul who tripped over a rock and was never seen again."

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice ominously. "You’re gonna be the star of the show there, darling!” he lilted.

How… close. And intimate. Not really.

“Sure.” I let the moment linger for a bit before continuing. “Anyways, you also mentioned dual-type Flux Zones before, right? What were they?”

“Duh. I’m sure you remember that I mentioned Dark-Ghost, then there are three other ones: Psychic-Fairy, Rock-Ground, and Poison-Grass. I heard that the first two are quite rare.”

“The supplies that come from them must be valuable, then. You did tell me that as long as one’s primary typing matches one of a dual-typed Flux Zone, they would be completely immune, correct?” I asked. 

Ashen hummed. No actually, he only implied it.

“Good. So do you just need one shield for one of the Zone’s types, or do you need both?”

“One. Only one. Just like with your typing. Sounds pretty fair, right?”

“Makes sense.”

“That just reminded me of something about two types… Yeah.” He cradled his free hand behind his head. “It’s such a shame our secondary types mean nothing here.”

“ Your, ” I corrected.

“—No, Cael. Don’t get me started.” He threw an arm up in the air. “Like, what’s the point of being a dual-type if half of your typing just decides to take a vacation when things get dangerous? Hello? What’s the point of all this typing nuance if the world just says ‘Nope, only your primary one counts, sorry!’ It’s not like I asked to be Fire-type first! It’s not just me ‘cause I’m pretty sure nobody did! I didn’t—”

I shushed him. “Look, I am not in the mood for your rants right now. And we are on a mission. You do not want to waste all of your energy, do you? Save it,” I told him off. I have found responding to rants to be exhausting.

He grunted. “Fine.”

A beat.

“I wonder why Corven asked us to get those berries.”

“Because they’re only found in Ice flux zones, bruh.”

I shot a glare at him. “That, I figured. I mean, what are their significance anyway? What do they do?”

“Oh, Aspear Berries cure the Frozen status effect—not sure how you’re supposed to it while being a block of ice, but anyways, then Yache Berries just increase your resistance for a tiny while,”—he wagged his hand, the tips of his thumb and index finger nearly touching to illustrate the small size—”against Ice types move which would normally be super-effective. It reduces the strength by around… 50%. Ganlon Berries increase your defense temporarily as well, while Pomeg Berries decrease your base health but improve your mood.”

“That seems very niche.” Pomeg Berries seem useless, actually.

“Yeah.” He tilted a head towards me. “It is,” he said as if it was the clearest thing ever.

“Then?”

“Well, you remember how you mix the powder with berry juice to create shield orbs, right? Okay, good,” he answered himself. “Derry once told me that the shield’s duration can be increased by two hours for every berry exclusive to the zone the shard came from that we use for the juice.”

“Your wording is… subpar.”

Not to say that mine does not.

Smiling, he leaned closer to stroke my ‘hair’ roughly with his free oven mitt, as if overcame by cuteness. “Aw, my brooding brainiac friend doesn’t understand what your one and only local airheaded guide is saying? Don’t worry!”

Weird, but surprisingly accurate nicknames. Sorry, Ashen; that is the truth.

He returned to his normal pose. “So, for example, if we use a blended Aspear, Yache, Ganlon, and Pomeg berry juice to make the orb from the Ground flux shards we got there, the shield would last for sixteen hours upon usage, because both of those berries, exclusive to Ice flux zones, equate to eight extra hours.” He muttered, “Doesn’t mean there are only four exclusive berries per flux zone type, by the way.”

I nodded. This inhospitable world does not seem as unlivable as it seems. Perhaps…

“Have you done this weird time extension ritual with our Ice flux shield orbs? Is this what you meant by those implied ‘abnormal conditions’? An extension for the shield’s duration?”

“Yeah. I mixed one Rawst and Cheri Berry each to the mix -ture. So it should last twelve hours. This time, hm…” He bobbed his hand up and down, like he was counting.

“24 glows. So we should get out around 23 glows,” I interrupted after managing to calculate faster.

“Yep!”

“Only two though? Are there not more? What are those? Why did you not mix all of the Fire zone-exclusive berries though?”

“Nah, there are also Occa, Figy, and Haban Berries. And why? I ate them.”

Of course he did. I should not have expected anything else.

“Why?”

“Because I was hungry, duh. Roasted Haban Berries taste so good!” He puts a fist close to his mouth while closing his eyes, probably imagining the supposed heavenly taste.

“Yeah, yeah.” Well, I do not even know what those berries taste like, so I can not relate. I asked because I thought he had some sort of emergency condition which those berries cured.

I put a hand to my forehead as I contemplated our conversation. There are so many berry types and how am I supposed to remember all of them? 

What do we have so far? Ice Zones have Aspear, Yache, Ganlon, and Pomeg, while Fire Zones have Rawst, Cheri, Haban, Figy and… Occa. That was difficult.

I was too focused on calculating that I could not process things right at that moment, that now we have to keep track of a bigger number, which means more chances to lose count. How, how? This is bad. What if we get too comfortable with the time? Twelve hours is a lot, after all. What if we forget when we are supposed to be in a rush? What if all the ‘what if’s I have said were true? Oh no.

No, no, Cael. You do not know whether or not these ‘what if’s will happen— But what if they do happen? No, silence, other voice! I just need to find a solution. Think, Cael, think!

…

Maybe…

“Ashen.”

“Yeah, again?”

“I have… an idea. So, how about we count alternatingly? Like, we take turns counting and keeping track. So I would count the odd numbers: one, three, five, and so forth, while you do the even numbers: two, four, six… Yeah. It should make it easier, right?”

He gave me a thumbs up. “Oh yeah, nice idea! Plus, since we have to count and tell each other, it won’t just be silent all the way.”

I closed my eyes and somewhat looked to the side, feigning pride. “Hm. I knew it would be.”

No, not really. It was good in my eyes, but it might not be in others’. Natheless, sometimes you have to be full of yourself, right?

I only thought of that because this problem was one that lied in myself, something I had to and could fix by myself. But sometimes…. It is not like that. Or most of the time.

Most problems have felt like something I was meant to endure, not solve. I do not know why, but I do.

“Oh yeah, there are some berries that you can find in every zone. Except Oran, Sitrus, Leppa, and Lum, they’re pretty much useless. Those useless ones are pretty rare though, but be careful of them—we’re not trying to find those for Corven,” Ashen reminded.

“Understood,” I replied.

Oh, that gave me another idea.

“Did you say they were rare? If it is, should we not take one, or two?”

“The bindle doesn’t have infinite space, silly.”

“I am aware of that,” I said, vexed to an extent. I paused, thinking of a logical way to put it.

“But how do you know they are truly useless? That berry mixing trick you expounded on shows that not all berries are for consumption. Or at least, You said that we do not know everything about flux zones yet. If we find something uncommon that we can make a whole discovery out of, it would be worth the risk.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully—at least that is what it appears like. “Huh, when you put it that way…”

“Why would these items be rare if they have no value, after all? It is a simple probability that it may just be hidden.”

Ashen smirked. “Heh. You just wanna pick up weird stuff, don’t you? Collecting maniac.”

I do have always had a penchant for collecting which I have never fulfilled, but for the sake of this banter, I must deny it.

“I just value possibilities.”

“Nerd.”

“I know I am. So what?”

“Pssh,” he waved a hand dismissively.

“Back to the main topic, what are these useless rare berries?”

“There’s too many to list. I doubt you’ll remember it anyway… Not that I do, heheh! But you should know it when you see a different fruity blob after seeing Oran Berries or the other common ones for so long.”

“Noted.”

Speaking of noting, it would be extremely useful here. Maybe when we get back to town, we could…

“We should take notes of our exploration for future reference—make a berry chart and jot down any other useful information. Fetching some extra berries if we have space could be useful since, most likely, we will have to trade again for the writing utensils we need.”

“Agreed. Wow, your ideas have been great so far, honestly! You’re so creative and…”—he paused—“intelligent!”

“…Thank you.”

“No worries, mon pote !buddy!”

Being praised for my ideas—even if it might seem generic—meant a lot. I noticed the way he paused before saying ‘intelligent’; he must have remembered. I felt glad being called something other than ‘smart’ for once, but I did not know how else to express my gratitude.

I have always liked sharing my ideas; there is a strange, aching satisfaction in being heard. For reasons I can not recall, I had long since learned to expect otherwise.

Also—

“…Are we close enough for that?” I asked.

“For what?”

“‘Mon pote ?’‘Buddy?’”

Ashen blinked. “Huh? Oh!—uh, wait—wait, YOU KNOW FRENCH TOO?!”

“…Some.”

He stared at me. “ Some?! You— Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“You never asked.”

“That’s-that’s not— Have you just been sitting here, judging my accent?”

“Yes. It was your lack thereof. In English, anyway.”

“Wait, really?”

“It is… odd,” I admitted. “You speak English like someone who learned it first. But when you speak French, you sound like a native. You can do… two distinct accents.”

“Pfft— merci, I guess?” He put a hand on his hip. “I got used to switching since it helps, y’know? Some people listen more when you sound like them.”

“So you adapted,” I murmured.

“Yeah.” His voice was softer now. “Doesn’t mean I forget where I’m from.”

“…So, where are you from?”

“Just… this general area, I suppose. Not sure what it’s called. Native Helvetian!”

“…Fitting.”

“Huh?”

I raised an eyebrow metaphorically. How does he not know? “Your species. Arma- rouge. ”

“WAIT— rouge?! Like, like RED?!”

“Yes.”

“Oh Arceus.” He slapped his forehead. “That’s so obvious. I speak French. How did I never catch that?!”

“How did you never?”

“Well, well—I thought it was only a cool-sounding name! I didn't think about it that much!” He looked scandalized.

“Although it transpired to be literal, no? Even if… every Pokémon species name appears to be.”

“Okay, okay—yeah, when you say it like that, I sound like an… idiot. But still!—I didn't wake up every day, going ‘what color am I today?’”

…?

He waved his hand in a wide circle. “Get it? Get it? It was just too obvious that it circled back to being not obvious! Like, you wouldn't even care enough to pay attention to it!”

“…You are not entirely incorrect.”

“Wait—was that— was that a compliment?”

“Observation. Facts. Not a compliment.”

“…Ohhh, one day,” he said, clutching his fists dramatically. “One day, I’ll catch you. You’ll say something so tantalizingly sweet, so absolutely undeniable, that you won’t be able to hide behind the ‘facts’ anymore!”

“…Will I?”

“Yes, you will; I know it!”

If so… I hope that will not be sometime in the near future.

Not that I am sure it will even happen anyway.

The Flux Zone’s box of tinged sky grew bigger and bigger, howbeit very slowly. Is Ashen not tired from all this hiking? I guess warriors like him are tireless. If I could not float, I would probably have collapsed already.

The trees passed by as we traveled together. It suddenly felt more calming looking at the passage after talking to Ashen than when we just started. My heart is not racing as hard anymore, although it seems to have been that way since a while.

I am starting to accustom myself to the breeze, although I would still very much prefer warmth.

I could not tell if it was my just-there longing to spend time with someone for once or the serenity of the environment. I always say it could be both—or all the possibilities even, but no; it probably is the former. I mean, how would someone like the view of this inky canvas?

I cannot possibly enjoy a place like this—especially with what it means—no?

Still, it felt soothing, yet I could not tell. Maybe I do not want to. This unsureness…— No. It is about time I let myself feel things without question.

…

Hours upon more uneventful hours passed by. If I had to gauge, we have been journeying non-stop for about two hours and a quarter. The path through the diverse hills felt relatively straight, although in retrospect, it is a lot more winding.

I am not that tired since I have been levitating the entire time, but Ashen…—

Wait, why does Darkrai not have the ‘Levitate’ ability? It would be such good compensation in my world for the 50% Dark Void accuracy. Take notes—hang on. Yeah, nobody would be able to hear my mind.

Okay, maybe I should check up on him.

“Are you tired?” Finally, a break in the stillness.

“What? No! Definitely not!” Ashen answered way too fast, then flexed one of his arm, presumably to show off his ‘energy’. “See? I’m… doing… great!” His words were breathless. The way his pauldron floats below his brachium when he does so looks interesting, to say the least.

Upon further observation, his exhaustion is visible. His eyes are slightly narrower than usual, his breathing is labored, and his steps are slower.

…I feel like I have subconsciously followed the snailish pace of his steps. Impressive trickery, huh? Let us hold a mental applause for both mine and Ashen’s brilliant brains.

Something clicked in me. Of course.

“Look at yourself, panting and all. You can not tell me you are not exhausted.”

“Calling me out, huh…? Expected from someone like you.”

“I am stating facts.”

He groaned. “Tch. Okay, fine. Maybe I am a little tired. But not enough to stop.”

“Are you suggesting it’s a brilliant idea to venture into that hellhole—where who knows what dangers are waiting, where we might not even get to rest or find a single berry—with an empty stomach? Let us not forget that it will be a 12-hour expedition.”

That chain of pragmatism came suddenly out of me. …Wow.

“No…”

“Then we should rest now. We do not even have to stop completely—just eat while walking, or something. It is not that complicated, Ashen.”

He exhaled, stopping in his tracks. “Fine. Be patient, I gotta grab things first.”

After setting the bindle on the ground, he opened it and gave me two berries of the same type which I do not know the name of—him taking the same, to eat. “Eat up,” he commanded, as he tied everything back together.

I scrutinized the spherical fruit, its red and yellow halves split by a jagged line resembling flames, with two small leaves sprouting from its crown. “What’s this?”

“It’s a Leppa Berry. It restores a lot of stamina. Perfect for this situation, amirite?”

“I guess so.”

I brought the berry closer to my nonexistent lips, and started to chow down on it… including the leaves. I just thought that they would taste the same as the fruit.

Eating will always be fascinating for someone mouthless like me.

The berry’s mix of tastes overwhelmed my taste buds to the point it mostly just feels bland—not in a bad way. It was spicy, sweet, bitter, and sour, all at once, each flavor amplified momentarily when the chunks hit the respective receptors. The leaves abnormally tasted the same as the rest of the flesh; perhaps it was part of it, or it was just the way they naturally tasted.

I felt less hungry, although the stamina regeneration has not gotten to me. I turned around to Ashen, putting another berry in my mouth. Walking normally, he has already finished, unsurprisingly.

Thinking of eating, I feel like we do need to do another thing before starting the expedition. I am currently not tired, possibly a perk coming with being the herald of nightmares, but Ashen… is not someone associated with sleep at all, like most creatures here.

“Should we not sleep? Maybe right before the entrance of the zone. It will be a 12-hour exploration, after all.”

“Y-yeah, we should…” Ashen answered too quickly before pausing. “But definitely not now. I’ve been waiting to see it right in front of my eyes, y’know!” he added, with far too much enthusiasm. A bit too eager for me.

“Then why do we not stop right before we enter the zone? Could be good to map it out and plan things too—”

“No.” His tone sharpened. “And here I thought you were the mastermind. Did you forget that the layouts change once we enter? Plus, the size on the outside is just trickery. We don’t know anything, we can’t know anything, and we can’t plan anything.”

I blinked a few times. Ah.

I turned around to make sure he did not catch anything. I feel like Ashen has noticed it as well.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, trying to profess confusion.

I am sure he knows too well why I am staring at him.

“Like what?”

“Like you are looking into the depths of my soul. Quit it. I’m supposed to be the cool one here.”

“I was simply looking,” I lied. “Plus, you are a Fire-type.”

He squinted at me, as if perusing me instead. “You’re doing that unreadable thing again. Stop it.”

“No…”

I glanced to the side in hopes of disengaging from this mess I have just made. I have always held these puzzling beliefs—one I cannot trace, only obey.

Letting people fill in the blanks themselves should be safer. Or it used to be.

There is no true correct way to hide discomfort. If you stammer or hesitate, you are labeled confusing or weak, even. But if you stay quiet—if you appear detached—it gets twisted into something else entirely. Coldness. Condescension. Even an indicator of you admitting your loss in the argument silently, with nothing else left to say.

But I suppose, the latter would be the best, right? It is their misinterpretation, their mistake, their misinformation, not the truth.

Therefore, this time it should work, right? Maybe if I do it early enough, before I clap back too much, say something regrettable…

Ashen leaned in closer, tilting his head smugly. “You're so uncomfortable right now. It's adorable.”

I paused to steady my next words. “How do you know? I am not.”

“Liar.”

I kept looking away.

“Aww, is the almighty Darkrai embarrassed that he actually noticed something emotionally insightful? Tragic.”

I tilted my head down, eyes starting to slant to the outside. I said nothing. I thought I did everything… right.

I guess I was too late, yet again.

Perhaps effort is not what gets you far. Not effort, not honesty, not good intentions, but something else entirely. Like…

“Okay, Cael, sorry, sorry!”

I did not respond.

“I wasn’t actually…” His voice trailed off, softer now. “I didn’t really know what you were thinking.”

“Then why did you—” I said slightly wavering.

“I just thought teasing you would, I dunno, lighten the mood. But… I guess I hit the wrong thing,” he said with a hangdog grin.

He patted my shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… yeah. Sorry. I’ll try not to do that again. Trust me!”

I wanted to. I think I did. Maybe I even am right now, although my doubt seems to prove otherwise.

A part of me still flinched and did not know how. I could not articulate anything, as a result.

I also pressed that initial thought down. That is not me. Where did that belief come from?

One mistake, one misunderstanding, does not get to change my ideals. Even if I am especially notorious as a Dark-type, I should keep trying my best and uphold my integrity; I must prove them wrong. That is what matters, is it not?

We kept our eyes on everything but each other the rest of the way. Maybe he glanced at me once or twice, but I would not know; I did not look.

Time passed by as the air grew colder and colder—right when I was becoming acclimated to the normal temperature. Our breaths now turn into mist. I tried my best not to shiver.

As we hiked up the mountain, small patches of snow began to appear, growing ever so slightly thicker as we went on. I am glad it is not snowing eternally; if the snowfall that caused this had been caught in the loop, we would be stuck in a constant snow flurry.

This must just be the residual snow pre-Catastrophe, like the kind that continues clinging onto mountaintops throughout the entire year. I can not imagine how much colder it would be otherwise.

But now, the snow has reached the same level as a tundra, and I honestly can not resist the need to shiver anymore. Crossing and rubbing both of my arms only negligibly helps. My pace slowed down but I tried my best to match Ashen’s.

“Hang on. I'm sure we're close to one of those eternal campfires.”

“That is easy for you to say…”—I quivered—”as a Fire-type. Can you not… use one of your moves, or something?”

“I could but I'm currently carrying something… Can't turn my pauldrons into cannons right now, sorry bud. Want me to, y’know?” He beckoned to me. “Give you some warmth?”

‘Bud’? Maybe I should forget about that. And for the first time in a while, I faced him.

“No… I can handle this by myself,” I refused, too stubborn. It would be awkward anyway.

“You sure can't.”

“I am fine. Just focus on the path ahead,” I tried to deflect.

But he did it anyway; he pulled me closer, wrapping one arm around my body. The natural warmth from closeness and the extra heat from his arms—probably one of the perks of being a Fire-type slowly eased my shivers. Immediate, unfair, and effective.

“You are insufferable…” I complained, yet I did not pull away when I could—or perhaps even should—have. It worked way too well.

“And you love it!” He snickered.

It is moments like these that feel weird; not that I am assigning a meaning to it beyond Ashen simply caring about me. It is just that I do not know what to think nor what to do with it. Maybe I want to. Even if impossible, I can still try.

I have never been good at both receiving nor spreading these kinds of things, whatever it is—warmth, comfort, kindness. I have always found it easier to pull away, and observe—the things I have been doing.

Being seen and not judged makes me oddly tense up, almost as if some previously unknown emotions I have always subconsciously trapped away are resurfacing again. That, I really do not want, perhaps despise.

Part of me just wants to reclaim the distance, prove that I am unbothered and unaffected, or something, and protect something I can not name. In moments like this, it is like I am expecting for something bad to happen. 

And yet, my body did not fight back—drawn into it, even, like I longed for this. I could always do so, but… I would be betraying my own self, yet… not at the same time. Would that even help? If I can not even trust myself, who can I…?

He is warm, and I… want to stay, believe it is normal—acceptable, even, but be that as it may, I hate it. I feel so pathetic for not being able to make up my mind, not knowing the ‘why’ behind these thoughts. 

I am managing to disappoint even myself, somehow; I need to stop this eventually. I can just convince myself that it is all practicality, that I was weak. Not weakness, not desire, I just needed the warmth, not wanted it.

Yes, that is it. I have cracked the mystery on how… to stop thinking about this. Just that.

Where are we now? I must have spiraled so much that I lost track of things.

“Cael?” he called tentatively.

I looked at him. “Hm?”

“Hey buddy! Look, we’ve reached our campsite!” he exclaimed and pointed somewhere, clearly relieved.

My eyes followed where his hands gestured at, spotting a campfire set at a safe distance from a dead tree trunk, “Oh, right. Yeah, we should hurry there.”

Accordingly, we started heading there and I sat down against the trunk; the snow is so cold… My poor leg-thingies. The radiation does not assist too much as it is the underside that is touching the white frozen water, but I suppose it is still something. I can handle this.

Whereas Ashen…

“Wanna switch places?” I asked.

“Nah, don’t worry about me. I would’ve melted the snow if time worked normally here. Let’s just rest now.” He sat down on the snowy open ground beside me, setting down his sack.

Well that is unfortunate, yet also favorable at the same time.

“Sure. I will try. Good… sleep, Ashen. Sleep well.” I stumbled over my words. I forgot there was not a day-night cycle in this world.

“That’s rich coming from the nightmare overlord, y’know?”

I sighed, and said the driest thing anyone could ever say: “Okay.”

“What?” He grinned lazily. “You gonna wish me sweet dreams next?”

I stared at him blankly. “No, but I could.”

“Then do it! You’re gonna seal your reputation good, alright?”

“If you keep doing this, then you might just not wake up,” I threatened emptily.

“Okay, okay, point taken.” He raised his hands in surrender.

Subsequently, he laid his back on the ground as he spread his limbs widely to make a snow angel one last time before sleeping. His broad, floating pauldrons no longer flanked his arms—instead, they covered the sky-facing side. They did not follow the turns of his brachium, ensuring they never touched the earth nor hindered the act of lying down. “Are you ready for ‘tomorrow’?”

Self-stabilizing pauldrons… How considerate of it. Evolution, I mean.

It reminds me of animals marking their territories, and in a sense… we are animals. Anyways.

“Not exactly…”

“If that’s the case, don’t worry! I’m sure we’ll power through it. Sleep tight now, nightmare boy . We can always plan tomorrow. Take it easy. Also please don't make the nightmares too bad.”

Well, that is less hard said than done; I can not take impractical advice.

“I do not think I can fulfill that request. Especially not if you're gonna keep calling me that.”

“Well then it doesn't matter anyway, right? Haha!”

How many nicknames does he have for me at this point?

He winked at me before closing his eyes while I just eyed him. I decided to follow suit and lean on the bark, just as wet as before.

Despite his words, I have chosen to observe my surroundings rather than sleep. After all, I am not that drowsy anyways; it could help me distract myself from my own impending nightmares…

Laying my gaze on the entrance, the boundaries are clearly demarcated by some sort of semi-transparent, ethereal wall, stretching seemingly endlessly into the overcast sky above, with shifting patterns inside it. This must be the source of the tint. It reminds me of Light Screen, Reflect, and Trick Room.

The inside seemed to just be a continuation of the trail we were on, which would make for a decent trap. How… dubious.

It looked rather small from here as well—I could see straight to the other side, indicated by a more opaque speck in the wall, thanks to the clearer vantage. It must have been on a taller mountain, not hidden by the slope we were currently on.

Unfortunately, there does not seem to be anything I can base my plans on here. It truly is pure unpredictability.

The bonfire’s crackling filled the silence as I let my thoughts and vision wander. While the temperature was not amazing, it was rare to see so much snow, especially in a setting like this.

It feels different to look at it now. Living in the city, snow was mostly seen as a nuisance, blocking everything it covered. In somewhere like that, the only places you could play with it were probably public parks or yards, nothing else.

But now, like this, it feels much more… liminal. Distant, quiet, untouched, muffled, and far away. While time is technically stopped now—looping, this feels like a true freezing of the world itself.

I wonder what the humans back in my world are thinking regarding me right now. Is time also halted there while I am here? Are they—whoever they are—even worried? I do not know, but something tells me that they are not.

I suppose it is fine. Here, I am free from the shackles of society, mostly. It feels like a fever dream, now that I look back. In addition, I might have taken my ability to float quite for granted. It is something that not everyone in this world has, let alone anyone in the human world. All this while, I have just been hovering not far above the ground just for functionalism.

For that reason, perhaps sometime I should try soaring into the skies above. Would that feel like truly being free? My heartbeat became steady and my breathing slowed down. It has been a while since I felt at peace—thusly, as the poets might say.

Living here feels tranquilizing for the most part so far, except for my visit to the town. But I am positive that it will get better soon, or perhaps I could just learn to… man up. Life here would be even better if we managed to restore the world, right? For after all, once we do, we will be able to see Mother Nature in all her glory yet again.

I have not seen the daily, ordinary—though beautiful phenomena since I got here; I even somehow had forgotten it until now. Maybe this is another thing I am not truly appreciating for its worth. Maybe, sooner or later, I will miss it.

Having lived in this world pre and post-Catastrophe, I wonder what Ashen longs for the most. What his reaction to seeing his first sunrise after so long would be. Speaking of which…

I looked over at him; his breathing was steady, his vulnerable body relaxed notwithstanding the frigidity, yet an agitated expression paints his face. Looking at the sleeping figures of those I know well always draws me in. Just like how Darkrai are supposedly drawn to nightmares. I wonder what kind of dreams he is having.

As much as I am worried for him, it would be unwise to wake him up since if he wants to travel with me, he must learn to adapt to the nightmares I bring. As the one who chose me, he should know the risks, right? Besides, he needs a lot of rest for ‘tomorrow’.

I wonder what would happen if I tried to invade his instead. Would it help, make it worse, or do something else entirely? I do not even know the full extent of my powers. Could it be a way to escape my own nightmares?

If I really could not handle it anymore, maybe I shall try. Nonetheless, it should be done sparingly; dreams are manifestations of your subconscious after all, is it not? Perhaps I could unlock more truths—about why I feel this way, about what I might be hiding, about my social past.

The fire cracked again. The snow around it gleamed an amber hue, while everything else was just dull. Natural, celestial sources of light were nonexistent here.

Eventually, even my mind began to slow down. Not quiet, not blank—just… slower.

Maybe this is enough for now.

Chapter Text

Tick, tock.

That was all I could hear. Where am I?

In front of me was something transparent; I touched it: glass—smooth, cold, a void beyond it. Behind me were some lines with occasional numbers. What does it signify?

Why is it so narrow here? Where is the way out?

I looked around for an exit just to see that the land was curved. Is this a circle? I looked up to see two long, thick bars at different angles, ticking. Why am I inside a clock?!

I banged on the glass in hopes of breaking it. No use, it was too strong. Even Ominous Wind did not have an effect on it.

I noticed that the hands inched closer and closer towards me as time passed. My chest felt heavy, cold sweat running down my head. Am I truly stuck?

Then—laughter suddenly filled the air. It was not too deep, not too high. It came from outside of the clock, but I did not see anyone.

Tick, tock.

I could only stare in dread as my room grew smaller, and smaller. I fell to the ground, using one of my arms as support while the other just ran through my white plume.

I can not do anything.

Oh, look, my legs are already extended. I guess extending it when I am not floating anymore has become an instinct for me. So… cool. Hah…!

My eyes widened like a maniac when I saw that I was about to be crushed between them. Right, I could try pushing them back.

I used all of my strength to push them away, although as I should have expected, it was of no use. This is hopeless.

…

I could finally feel the other rod pressing on my back. This is it. I wonder… how painful it would be.

“You’ll always be too late,” a voice stated, the same one that had laughed.

A soft tick. I felt weightless, as if I turned into flour. Everything suddenly became black.

I jerked forward with my hands extended straight. My head hurts like previously, filled with just the sounds of clicking clocks. Am I back to that place I originally woke up at when I entered this world?

I looked around. Did history repeat itself?

…

Nope, just snow as far as the eye can see. Okay, good.

I feel a sense of pressure, but I am unsure of what. Of being watched? Of having expectations on you? Of impending doom? Of time running out?

I heard some munching sounds. It was Ashen having an Apple for breakfast, already.

He looked normal. Mostly.

Now that I pay attention, faint shadows were visible under his eyes. Moreover, his plume feels off. Like, it burned as always, but the tip of it lagged behind the rest—dangling slightly, flickering slower. It was almost as if his energy had not quite reached that far yet.

Noticing me gaze at him, he asked, “Nom… You’re awake already?”

“No, I definitely am not.” I let my sarcastic response hang in the air for a bit before actually answering. “Of course I am. What was that supposed to mean anyways?”

“Hey, forgive me for being surprised. You looked like you just pushed the exit door after being chased by a monster.”

“Maybe next time, stop phrasing your statements as questions.”

“Sure, sure.” He took another bite. How is he so active already? The signs showing the effects my nightmares had on him were clear.

I narrowed my eyes. “Did you have a good rest? How did the nightmares treat you?”

“Mmm… no. It was bad, sure. Don’t really feel like unpacking that one, heheh…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll manage, don’t worry. I’m honestly more worried about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, I dunno about you, but your eyes perpetually have bags. But maybe it’s just makeup or your inherent appearance. What’s up with your hair? It’s drooping down.”

I can not see my own plume, so I am not exactly sure what he means—but if his is acting up, maybe mine is too. 

“You are talking as if you do not have that either.”

“Well, it’s slower too!”

“So… is yours. I see that the speed of the billowing can change?”

“Hm? You thought it couldn’t?”

“I have not decided on that.”

Ashen laughed softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I am observant.”

“That too.” He exhaled and glanced upward, as if trying to catch a glimpse of his own plume. “Yeah, it flickers slower when I’m calm. Like… lazy flame. But when I’m fired up—hah, literally—it speeds up. Not just in battle either. Emotions, mostly. Tension. Adrenaline. All that. Same goes for the fire from my eyes too.”

“…Interesting. So it is not purely cosmetic.”

“Nope. It reacts to what I’m feeling. Pretty annoying, honestly. Kinda gives me away.” Then, more quietly, “I think it’s the same for you too. Even though… I haven’t noticed it.”

“…I see. Still, do not worry about me, I am perfectly fine.”

“Pssh, sure, whatever.” He flicked a hand dismissively; the usual. “You know you.” He turned around to his sack to then grab something. Maybe while I wait, I could…

That did not answer my question at all. In fact, it raised more. Him not wanting to delve further made sense, considering his personality so far; it was very clear when we were at Gleisien. What I mean is, does this not suggest that he remembered his dream well enough to be able to dive into it?

(“Hey, Cael.”)

Wait, why do I have to reassure myself? I am thinking like I am talking to someone, which may be odd. Nonetheless, I usually do that in the human world, anyway.

I have always been unable to remember mine unless they were lucid, and most of the time, they are not. Due to that, could he be the key to shooting this trouble? Does he even have the ability to decode the fragments?

(“Did you fall asleep again?”)

…Meh, I do not feel like discussing it either. But I feel like, eventually I will have to—

“CAEL!” Ashen shouted.

“What? What is it?” That was faster than I had expected.

He shoved an Apple at me. Without having to say a word, I took the hint.

“Ah, yeah, thank you.” I started to chow down on it. Tastes like the usual. Maybe there is a slight variation, but my tongue has never been the most sensitive.

“Don’t mind it.” He waved a hand as he walked back to his previous spot. The marks on the snow from his activity were clear.

“By the way, how do you have so much energy even after those… nightmares? ”

“Simple. You know me, I have infinite stamina!”

“You just proved to me that you do not.” I took another morsel.

“Ehh, sure. Once we’re done eating, brace yourself.”

Oh, right. Today will be exhilarating, really.

I ate, and ate. There really was nothing I could think of right now other than the impending perilous journey ahead. And even then, there really was nothing I could do. Delaying things is ineffectual, so I figured it would be better to just get this over and done with.

I observed Ashen’s plume again. It seems to have returned to its normal pace. I remember what he said about it.

It changes. With mood, with tension. Mine too—allegedly.

That means it is visible. Predictable. Readable.

I have a reaction display. A literal mood ring. On my head.

He had not noticed it. Yet.

Which means he could. Others could.

I blinked once—slowly. I did not let my shoulders tense.

I resisted the urge to touch it. My hair—mist—plume—whatever it was. I did not want to know how fast it was moving now.

I will have to control it better— No. I will have to control myself better. Mask better. Think… colder thoughts. My hair only moves in reaction to my own emotions.

Emotional regulation is not for comfort. It is for concealment.

It is fine. Fine enough.

…But also, if someone could read it… then maybe it would help them understand me better. That is a good thing, is it not?

I hate being misunderstood. I hate—

No. No. I do not want to be understood. That is worse; that is vulnerable.

Though, if it helps people interpret me correctly… if it keeps Ashen from asking so many infuriatingly accurate questions—then maybe it is not all bad.

And besides, he is the only one who would even think to notice—given that he is the only one with a plume-mood ring thing around here. He should be the only one to make the connection—if it ever presents itself. Even then, when he supposedly did, it was merely a theory—which is surprising for someone who notices everything. At least, most things.

A matching flaw. That makes us even.

Moreover, the emotions my billow indicates are vague enough. It should not be something new—people would be able to tell what I am feeling through my expressions anyway, right?

…Right.

Once we were done eating, I nodded at Ashen, and he started scrambling through his supplies. After a while, he raised his hands up, as if making a new discovery. “Whew, that took long enough!”

He then started to wrap things back up and walked towards me, already lifting off the ground whilst waiting for him.

“Here! Look at these magical, wonderful balls! Take one.” He opened his hand to reveal semi-transparent orbs of the same color as the borders of the Ice flux zone in front of us, with various hues swirling inside of it. Thereupon, I did as he told me.

“If we get that satchel, we will not have to waste time rummaging through the pile again…” I murmured mindlessly; a thought had escaped my mind.

“Yep! That’s why this is so important! Are you ready?” he responded. His perceptiveness is not surprising anymore.

“Never ready for anything, but I have no choice, so…” I answered truthfully.

“That’s the spirit! Follow me.” He motioned towards me as he headed towards the wall. Without having to be commanded twice, I did so.

“Activate it! Just like…”—he threw a hand up into the air, releasing the flux shield orb from his grip, exploding into a sphere—reminiscent of the flux zone perimeter—that surrounded him from top to bottom—”this! Try it, and hurry up!”

“Oh? Yes, yes!” I copied him, the same process happening all over again. The shield clicked into place—then Ashen yanked my arm and brought me into the zone. No warning. Just motion. Well, now I see the disadvantage of not having a leg: you can not immediately resist when someone pulls you.

Once we were fully in, we were now standing seemingly in the middle of nowhere. The boundaries could only faintly be seen behind the far, faraway summits that us.

Our shields can apparently phase through solid objects and other shields. They just sink in through the ground, or merge, but not quite—still positive that it only protects the true wearer if it does encase another entity, though. I am not sure what I am going to do with or without that information; it was expected anyway.

This zone looked like a taiga, except that all the trees were dead. A cliff was to the left of us, and I saw some floating patches of snow and ice in the distance… How otherworldly.

They did not move just yet. It is really possible these might just fall down randomly. Or even purposefully when we are passing beneath it. I have got to keep an eye out for these.

No snowstorm, oddly. Just some calm wind. Even with the shield—although manageable—the low temperatures were still palpable. But I am sure that that is to come.

“Done analyzing the surroundings?” Ashen said. The way he said it made it sound like a super important secret mission, or something.

I hummed. “Beware, there are floating blobs of snow and ice like those over there.” I pointed for Ashen to observe.

“Got it. Let’s move. Where to?”

“I mean, the forest seems like it would be a great spot for hidden items, so there.”

“Alright. C’mon.”

Henceforth, we moved.

“Why do you think they’re dangerous?”

“Well, I reckon that these might be able to fall on us, randomly, or when we are under it. Either way, I would advise against going anywhere near it.”

“Okay, okay. Yup, I’ll remember that. Keep an eye out for anything uncommon. Might be something valuable.”

I nodded.

Upon further observation, I noticed that shadows were not present here. It would have been normal since this place lacks natural lighting, but Ashen’s plume and the flame in his eyes also radiated light. I can imagine a more well-experienced Darkrai hating places like these, which have no shadows.

We continued ahead. This place is so barren. Nothing is catching my eye so far. Only occasional pebbles and some stones in the distance. How boring. No wonder flux shields last for eight hours. It would not have built in that much time unless it expected itself to be wasted.

…

The occasional sounds of the breeze passing filled the silence.

Our shields glowed. It must have been thirty minutes. Time to start counting.

“One,” I announced.

“How many times until we activate panic mode, again?”

“Let me remember… 23.”

“Okay, noted!”

Not long after, something glowing entered my peripheral vision.

“Cael, look!” Ashen called, pointing into a rock in the distance with something glowing on its peak. Without needing a response, he has already rushed there. 

I came after him. It must be something important, like…

Arriving, I saw a glowing, exquisite coffee-colored crystal protruding out of the top of the rock—conjoined as a pair. This must be one of the Ground flux shards Corven asked for. Of course, I extended my legs to stabilize myself.

“Our first shard! WAIT—No. JACKPOT!” Ashen exclaimed, hurrying to put them into his bindle. “What?! Two shards at once? This has never happened!”

“Is that abnormal?”

“Well, I think so! I’ve been traveling alone before you came along, right? Then, it always spawned individually. And this only started happening after you came…” He tilted his head. “I dunno why though. I mean, it could just be a coincidence but still, maybe you could make a theory?”

“I think I can make something out of that.”

To actually create theories, one must assume that nothing is coincidence. If Ashen had explored multiple Flux Zones alone and never encountered paired shards until now, the variable that had changed… was me. Or rather, the number of explorers.

So, the yield might have increased since we went in pairs. It would make sense if flux zones were systems designed with internal logic—compensating shard drops with group entries.

“If I had to guess, this is likely because we are exploring the zone together. And that leads to double shard generation,” I summarized.

“Ooh. That actually makes sense!”

I hummed. If we could keep this pace up, then maybe it would not be so bad after all.

Nothing bad has happened so far… When will the first danger—

A thud. Automatically, I turned toward the source of the sound: a huge pile of snow.

“Well, good news, they do not fall on purpose; bad news, those floating chunks can fall.”

“Eeeyup…”

“Do not forget to glance up from time to time.”

“I won’t!”

Immediately after that, I glanced up as we resumed our travels. Nothing above us in sight, good.

We got out of the ‘forest’ to be met with a soft slope. The barriers of the flux zone seemed just as distant as before. If we switch directions, we might just never reach it, unless we are not relatively equidistant to each side of it right now.

“Ashen. We should just keep going straight ahead. There is no harm in exploring around the edges later—it would help us find the exit faster.” I explained.

Surely there will be no repercussions for going on a straight path, right?

“You’re right. Okay.”

We headed up the slope—taking a slight detour since there was a cliff right in front of us—though we were relatively on track.

…Or so I thought.

Minutes passed, then more. The slope felt just as far as it had been, as if it was either really long, or something else.

It could be that we are going round and round, or…

I frowned. “Ashen. Halt.” I stopped and extended my appendages as usual.

He blinked at me. “What? What is it?”

“Just… observe. Look around.”

“Oh?” He rotated around, fully in a circle. “Hmm… It looks just like before.”

“Yeah. Look at the rock we got our first shard from.”

It was still there. Still in view, distant. But not just that; it has not changed at all.

I leaned down, bending my ‘knee’ slightly—which must look weird as a Darkrai—and grabbed some snow. I stood up again, and shaped them into snowballs; well, approximate spheres. It did not come out as smoothly as I wanted, but it is not important.

I threw it with as much force as I could, and it flew a really—extremely—long way. I know I used all my strength, but I did not expect it to go this much of a distance.

“Wow, you're really strong, huh? I mean, that is to be expected, since you're a Mythical and all…” He tilted his head. Frankly, I have bad hand-eye coordination—so how far I expect something to be thrown when I do is usually way off, but this is different.

“No. Look. That's an abnormally long reach. This must mean that space here is warped to look closer and smaller than it really is.”

His face twisted in disbelief. “Wait, seriously? But we've been walking—”

“Yes. Walking in place .”

“Not looping?”

“No. I had that suspicion too, but there would have been a change, an illusion. Progress, then reset. But here, we have made none at all: stasis. I feel like space here is compressed to look smaller than it actually is.”

“So?”

“Change directions. Now, ” I commanded. We can not waste any more time!

He nodded. “Okay. This way, then—”

A sharp crunch. “Uh oh,” he muttered. Yep, indeed. Oh no.

Ashen shook almost as if there was an earthquake. Then suddenly, ice spikes emerged dramatically from the ground below, completely surrounding us in a glistening, jagged circle. The only opening was the roof, or the lack thereof.

I will call this a ‘frost bloom’ from now on for simplicity, I suppose.

“…Great.” I folded my arms.

He looked up pensively. “Hey, can't you just lift me up there?”

“I will try.” This is quite stupid. But if—by any means—this will get us out, I will.

I floated a bit closer by the time I realized something. Wait. How am I even supposed to grip him?! Are we supposed to…

“Wait,” I said flatly. “How do you want to be lifted?”

Ashen looked back at me. “Uh, I dunno. Maybe just grab… my hand?”

“No. That would put too much strain on one arm.”

“Okay then… front hug?”

I visibly cringed at it.

“…What if I stand on you?”

“How?”

“Well…” He motioned for me to turn around, and pointed at my back. “That.”

“What is ‘that’?”

“Y’know, that empty, pointy space behind those weird red spikes on that neck of yours. I could try standing there”

“That'd be too unsteady. What would you be holding for support?”

Ashen let out a loud groan in exasperation. “This is impossible! You're so picky.”

“I am not,” I retorted.

“Then just decide something already!” he snapped. This is the first time…

I turned around and crouched down, grimacing. This is so uncomfortable and embarrassing…

A weight pressed against me as he hastily swung a leg onto my back, alighting on the empty space behind my head. I felt him sweeping the curtain of my hair aside—only for it to apparently curl around him again.

His legs settled between my spikes, his feet resting lightly on my shoulders. “Damn, Cael—why’s every part of you either spiky or ticklish? You’re making it hard to stay still,” he protested as I felt a rumble produced by his wobbling.

“…Simply wrap them around your legs.”

“I know, I know; I was about to do that. Doesn't make it any less of a hassle, though,” he grumbled.

I sighed and reached back, holding what would be his ankles to secure him further.

Wait—

I buckled, nearly tipping over. “Ah!”

“Hurry up!” he barked. I really feel like an object right now.

I gritted my teeth as I began to arduously float, straining under the weight. My limbs are trembling. Every second felt like a slow crawl through syrup. No, slime.

“How heavy are you?!” I managed through squinted eyes.

“Oh… 85 kilos, heheh,” he stated. If I recall correctly… the weight of most if not all of the specimens of a Pokémon species should be the same.

Although, I am pretty sure Darkrai is not that heavy, so of course my body can not handle this! I let out a prolonged, guttural moan—no, wail—and gave it one last push… only to sink right back down.

Wait, I am gonna crash—

In the blink of an eye, I unfurled my appendages. They made contact without me even needing to lower myself. That just proves how little progress I had made with all that effort.

“I give up,” I stated monotonously even though I was panting.

He looked away, possibly a bit ashamed about… it. That outburst was unlike him.

“Sorry about that. Yelling and all—just felt stuck.”

“Okay…”

I did not expect him to… lose control like that. He usually masks it better. I will not discuss about it right now, though. Priorities, of course.

“But, uh… how are we gonna get out now?” He turned around. I can imagine him feeling reassured after my response.

I contemplated for a bit. Wait, why has this idea not come to my mind earlier?

“Melt it. Your moves. Use Fire Spin. Or Flare Blitz. Or something. I do not care.”

He stared at me for a good while. Must be incredulous at how he did not realize this at first, just like I did.

He shook his head and snapped out of it, then faced one of the sides of the frost bloom. He laid the bindle down and brought his arms together, both pauldrons clanking as they magically fused into a single cannon. A low whirring hum began to rise, similar to a water pump that had just been turned on. 

Embers spiraled at the muzzle, brightening and brightening, until they coalesced into a roaring vortex of fire. The air started warping around it, resembling heat off asphalt, as the flames twisted forward in a wild, blazing spiral. And… blast. 

The incandescent beam instantly pierced through the ice with immense power. He swept his arm in a wide arc, ice cracking and vaporizing in his wake, until the blast had scorched a hole large enough for the two of us to pass through.

That was phenomenal. But maybe I might have dramatized it too much.

He picked up his bag on a stick again. “C'mon let's go! Onwards we go.”

Our shields glowed.

“Oop, two.”

That means one hour has passed.

He stepped out of the crevice, with me following shortly after. Looking back, I noticed something odd about the midpoint of the frost bloom.

“Ashen, look for the signs… The snow is slightly bluer on the traps,” I announced my discovery.

“Yeah, as if I'll notice that. Don't sweat it, I can just melt through it again.” He rolled his eyes.

“Right. But that wastes some time, and we can not waste any at all. Just keep an eye out—”

“ Yeah right,” he cut in. “You're saying this as if we won't waste more time overanalyzing snowflakes every two steps.”

I scowled. “Because one of us has to care if we step on that… pressure plate.” And I am going to prove him wrong. Recognizing color differences is not rocket science.

He smirked, and flicked his fingers toward me like he was brushing off my words. “And one of us has fire,” he countered, closing his eyes.

“And one of us has sense. ” I hovered ahead. “If you melt another trap and trigger a cascade again, I will leave you behind.”

He clutched his chest in mock betrayal. “Cael! That’s so cold of you!”

“Yes. We are in a frozen wasteland, Ashen . Stop with the theatrics.”

He groaned. “Okay, you did set me up for that one…”

This new route was also another slope like last time. There is no way the same thing will happen twice in a row to us, right?

Well, I should not jinx it. We have already just been forced to take a detour due to that spatial anomaly. So should I hope for the opposite? No, that means I would be happy when that happens. Should I not phrase it as an affirmative question? You know what, forget it.

After around five minutes, I think I can confirm this one is mostly normal. While it was big, I can sense us getting closer to it. It is just hard to describe visually.

Upon reaching the top, it was a descend down. Natural. Although, beside us was a raised cliff. 

I unfolded my legs to— Okay, I do not think I need to comment on that anymore since I will do this every time I observe something or stand still.

Above, a small plateau flattened out, and standing on the ledge, I can see—albeit faintly—a tree.

Odd. Not the kind of place you would expect anything to grow. However, to be fair, I do know for a fact that berries grow on trees.

I could not see what grew on it, but it may be worth a shot.

“Ashen, wait. Look up there.” I gestured vaguely toward it. Pointing did not sit right with me.

“Hm?” He heeded my orders.

“Should we try climbing to that?”

“Oh, a tree? Of course!” He dropped into a wide, low stance—knees bent, free arm flexed. “It's really time to show you my amazing skills!” Then he sprang back up.

I am not going to doubt him. “Sure,” I said like the usual; that just made it sound sarcastic, but connotation rules.

“Heh, yeah. Hold this for me and go up there.” He gave his bindle for me to handle, so all of his limbs were free to use; thereafter, I retracted my legs and started flying up.

Here is another thing I, for certain, do not feel like mentioning anymore; of course I am gonna pull them back in when I start moving again.

The sack of items were heavier than I thought, but I could still lift myself off. If he has succeeded to carry it this whole time, it really shows how much endurance he has. Perhaps strength too… I am quite envious, honestly.

No—no, it can not be envy. Maybe I simply prefer being around those weaker than me, so I can feel useful. Like some kind of mentor. But in hindsight, that is still untrue. I want someone who can match me, be on par with me. Someone who I can trust to hold their own, to challenge me. Which is what Ashen is doing, I suppose. That sounds right.

So why does it still feel like I am lying to myself?

I looked over at Ashen. He had already scaled halfway up, face determined, but not quite at the same pace as me; I am way faster. His body was tight against the rock, limbs braced in that “N” shape—one foot wedged into a crevice, one hand reaching fluidly. He did not even glance down.

Well, maybe I have not overemphasized my description at that time at all. And also, I am not jealous of his strength, but that athleticism, the way his body just knows what to do without hesitation. I had not expected him to be this adept. Why is the coordination of my body so terrible? Slow, rigid, disconnected, clumsy…

Well, at least I have the ability to levitate. But… that is the entire reason I am scaling the cliff quicker. It is just an unfair advantage. It is not skill, not a result of training. Just a cheat code. What do I even have when it comes to brawns?

Nothing. I bring no value. I am worthless. 

'Oh, you're analytical! You're introspective, smart! You can strategize and help us navigate things easily! You have a —' Yeah, right. As if that means anything when I can not even sell myself. The world rewards effort, not existence; that is just how I came to be. Probably.

Ashen is still climbing. His pace is slowing, arm muscles imperceptibly shaking now. Oop— his fingers slipped once, just for a second, but he caught himself like it was nothing. Like he trusts himself to fall and recover.

I would never trust myself to fall. Perhaps try—only to fail, or freeze. But inevitably, I would, and convince myself I deserved it. 

No. They always say that learning from your mistakes is the key to— 

But they never tell you how to handle it, do they? Did they ever say how you should learn from it? What happens if you repeat it again?

I—

Stop. This is not helpful. Where are these thoughts coming from? My chest is already… tense. How long has it been like that? I guess I realized late since it felt normal. 

We are in the middle of an adventure right now. There could be danger. Ashen is relying on me. I have disappointed myself many and many times, so I can not let him down. It is fine. I am fine.

I arrived at the crest with Ashen coming in slightly later; I proceeded to return the bundle. I must have subconsciously slowed my tempo down whilst in the middle of that mess of thoughts.

The branchless tree stood in front of me, trunk mahogany. The ovate leaves were sparse, growing in only two parts of the tree: the middle and peak, but uniquely dyed periwinkle. Fruits resembling green tomatoes with four sections each and a small, central pip at the tip grew from the same locations there too.

These did not match Ashen’s descriptions of the berry Corven told us to fetch…

“What are these?”

His eyes gleamed, even though he was gasping for air, clearly exhausted. “Lum Berries! I knew coming here was a great idea!”

That was definitely not something Corven mentioned. “What? These are not what we are looking for.”

“Yeah,”—he was already at the tree, picking the berries—”but they’re pretty rare! They cure any status condition. It’s kinda overpowered, if you ask me.” He put it in his bindle.

“Cool,” I tried to share the sentiment, even though I do not know how to respond to these types of things.

“It is! Now hold this,”—he entrusted his sack again with me—”and let's go back.”

He was already approaching the precipice, preparing to drop, while I stayed behind for a while to examine the tree. I could always catch up hastily, after all—the advantage of flight.

The peduncle he picked the berries from had already started to grow flowers again, petals yellow and disk green. It was still in the early stages, not fully bloomed, but… quick. Judging by how long it’s been since he plucked from it, the growth rate seemed accelerated. This must be how the time loop affects berry trees.

Regardless, if I stayed here to watch the entire process, I might end up stuck here for… about an hour—so, as fascinating as it may be, I decided to follow suit.

Then I glanced down.

The ground seemed much farther than I remembered. My pulse jumped, vision seemingly distorting at the edges… The world started tilting and felt like it was swaying around. Wait— is it me? My eyes narrowed as I started getting dizzier and dizzier.

I shut my eyes, trying to keep my vertigo in check.

This is not relevant anymore. You can float. Being up in the sky does not pose a threat to you anymore. Snap out of it. Being irrational is never helpful.

With a long breath, I calmed myself enough to move. I tried to keep them forward, instead of downward, and eased myself off the overhang.

Ashen also had no other choice but to look beneath him, yet he was still doing it with no hesitation. He scaled down cautiously but deliberately, controlled. His body seemed to understand the rhythm of descent just as easily as the climb. His head turned left and right, always calculating, but there were no pauses.

Maybe instead of begrudging it… perhaps I should just admire it. Silently. Not that I will ever need it with this new body of mine.

Though, that will still be challenging.

I ‘landed’ on the ground first, looking up as I patiently waited for him. Suddenly, a whooshing sound came from behind me. I need to—!

I ducked—or more accurately—inverted, somehow. My vision flickered as my head instinctively pulled downward; it was not just dodging, but retreating into myself. It hurled past overhead before crashing into the precipice, hitting it like an arrow.

My head emerged back out from the center of my red collar. I can feel my plume starting to billow again. That moment felt like I was no more than a shadow with a core.

The shield glowed. One hour and thirty minutes in.

I raised my voice in hopes that Ashen, up there, could hear it. “Three!”

He subtly nodded.

Back to the main topic. I have two questions: what was that, and what was that?  

I… did not know I could do that. That was such a coward's trick. Just like Double Team, splitting into flickers of yourself just to run away. Weak. This is so stupid; I do not know why I had done that when the shield is obviously going to protect us. What is the world trying to tell—

I heard something shatter and something flickered beside me. Another one of these icicles; it seems to have collided with the shield. If the last one did not, then that just goes to show the distance between my head and it, which just adds to the absurdity. But more importantly…

Is there someone trying to attack us? Oh, I will show…

I turned around to shoot a sharp gaze backwards, but there was nothing. Odd.

More started to fly past, many bursting after striking the shields. In addition to icicles, some of them are also smaller and thinner, like spears. This is not snow. …Not a blizzard?

I did not want to call out for him so as not to put pressure. He was nearly down anyway. But I saw it—his head whipped to the side, reacting to the sudden gust. The sounds of ice splintering must be throwing him off and making it harder to see.

Then, his foot slipped after the rock he was about to step on presumably got weakened from the hail. He fell. Ah—

…

Without saying anything, I threw the bindle to where I was gonna go, launched forward, arms extending reflexively, and planted my feet on the ground. I caught him—

But momentum was unforgiving.

His weight dragged me down instantly, as to be expected. My grasp held, but of course, my noodle legs faltered.

I plummeted forward, slamming into the snow with him cradled on top of me.

We hit the ground in a flurry of frost and impact, but it was not so painful. Thank the shield for that, I suppose.

Did I save him? I did slow down the impact, but would the shield not have protected him anyway?

Nevertheless, it is time to ask the classic question.

“Are you okay?” I asked. This angle is so weird… but from it, I could still see that his sack is still safe.

Ashen blinked at me, stunned, breathless. “What was that, Cael? This is so… You caught me?!”

I winced. “No, you fell on me. Now hurry and stand up already! My arms are hurting…”

“Oh, right, sorry!” He stood up from my cradle and rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “Heh, didn't expect you to do that… That's new.”

I also straightened myself. “You were going to hit your head. The shield might have protected you, but I could not take risks.” Then I murmured, “You are useful, after all…” It was a half-lie, half-truth.

He was genuinely grinning now, stupidly brightly. “You’re such a weirdo—thank you. Seriously.”

“Do not mention it. Ever.” I shot him an icy glare… although I am positive Darkrai always look clinical.

“No promises!” Ashen brushed snow off his armor.

“Also, this thing.” I picked up his bundle and gave it back.

The icicle spears started raining more heavily. While we are mostly unaffected, even unable to feel the strength of the wind outside, the shower obscured our vision as the onset picked up its pace.

“Stop wasting time and let us go,” I said, rushing. I almost forgot that if it were not for the four extra hours, eight hours probably would not have been enough to gather everything Corven requested.

He was still snickering before he stopped himself. “Hehe, yeah. On it!” He seemed unbothered by the squall.

We resumed our descent after a short detour, still on the same route. Good. Everything is going according to plan, except…

“How are we going to find anything in the middle of this storm?”

“Huh?”

I repeated in a higher voice. “How are we going to find anything in the middle of this storm?!”

“I can’t hear you!” he said, muffled. The fragmentation must be dampening our voices.

“I SAID, HOW ARE WE GOING TO FIND ANYTHING IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS STORM?! Come closer. Our voices are muted!” I yelled. That felt very out of character, but it should come out normally under the effects.

He approached closer, per my instructions. “I think we just have to keep moving—look for anything that sticks out! If we stop now, we’ll waste time!”

“Wonderful plan. Move forward blindly and hope for a miracle.”

“Trust me! We’ll find something—we have to. Just don’t stop walking!”

“I do not—”

“Just focus. Just try to.”

Has he not seen my antics? He is right, though…

Now that I have time to look back at it, I could still feel the shape of his weight against my chest. That stupid warmth. The ridiculous thud of our collision.

What was that?!

I feel like somehow numbing my nerves just to stop the tingling sensation. Eugh…

But at the same time, I… did not hate it.

Probably just a reflex. A logical calculation. I had the angle, the speed, the outcome predicted previous to when I even jumped. Not that I remember doing so…

That had to be all it was. He might have hurt himself. He is a resource… Wait.

Is that all he is?

No. At least, not anymore. Even if I wanted him to be, even if I told myself it was safer that way, I can not deny facts. Especially as one who has stuck on it for their entire life…

We have known each other for barely two days, I would gauge. And yet—he talks to me like I matter. Like I am someone worth seeing. What does that mean?

F…— ugh. Friend?

It took effort to even say that word and I am still mentally repulsed. That stupid word. That dangerous, fragile, broad word.

I must be deluded. He is just an… acquaintance. ‘But acquaintances don’t talk like that!’ Oh, let us just say he is particularly friendly. ‘Particular’…?

No matter. It is impertinent. He is unharmed. We have a mission to complete.

About that head—and probably plume—retraction thing, as stupid as it is, I am quite torn between doing that and Double Team. Which is worse: fracturing yourself into illusions so you can hide behind decoys, or vanishing into your own collar like a cowardly turtle? 

Well, at least for turtles it is in character; they look rather… cute. But for me? Why was I given this ability?

The former at least implies effort—movement, redirection, misdirection . Strategy. Deceit.

The latter is a huge no for me. Not even attempting to resist. Animalistic. Just curl inward and hope you are not real enough to be hit.

The fact that I both did and discovered it instinctively—without thought, calculation, nor logic—makes me despise it further. I vow to never do both of these, especially this. Who will one even fool with that? 

At least you can use Double Team to intimidate someone—as mindless as the clones look. Yep, that is it. How great. One of the few times I manage to resolve one of my many existential self-loathings.

I am not being sarcastic right now. Somehow, adding ‘genuinely’ just makes it sound worse nowadays.

…

More fractures. It is odd that I have not noticed this cacophony earlier. Was I simply too engrossed, or have my ears grown numbed to it? Likely the latter, given how I have been exposed to the sound.

This calamity is such… a breathtaking sight. Somehow even more surreal than the snow-covered peaks of this range—despite their lack of precipitation—further amplified by the noiselessness. Everything blurs past so swiftly.

If time loops, would this hailstorm not rampage incessantly? Does it have no impact on this? Or does the loop affect this differently?

While it is quite hard to make out, the rocketing projectiles do not seem to behave strangely. No sudden bursts of velocity nor halts out of nowhere.

If that is the case, would this storm not last forever? I do not recall it occuring earlier. Would the flux zone really allow a part of itself to remain permanently unexplorable?

I suppose that would make sense, in a cruel way. The world has always been unfair, so…

No, wait, where did I come to that conclusion? It has proven otherwise. But, something in me is telling me so…

Regardless… what can explain this?

Perhaps…

Hm…

Got it.

Perhaps the looping timespan is longer than for most processes—stretching not just for a moment, but throughout the entire onset, climax, and resolution of the event. This should explain why I did not witness it on the way here. In addition, the shards previously must have been teleported to where they flew from; what an interesting way to erase any evidence…

If this is true, what would this entail?

Even if nothing is concurrently occuring at the exact moment I am observing a spot, this could serve as an indicator—a marker of places not to tread. Then again, do disasters encompass every inch of this zone?

This is the first significant phenomenon thus far, so that might or might not be the case. Have we only traveled through the safe windows of time so far? That would be unlikely, but I know for a fact that this place is unpredictable. It could be that the duration varies by location.

Never mind. I will just stick to what I have established.

The land has become flat again… Since when? For someone who floats to move, it should be quite clear that I am not the most shrewd at recognizing tilts. Seriously, who would want to see a bogeyman walk on stilts?

“Cael,” Ashen called suddenly. It was hard to hear through the whirl, but I could make it out.

“Yes?”

“Hear that? A different shattering sound. It feels more… dull.” He must have caught something I had missed.

I paused. There was too much noise in the air, but I could see the way he turned his head—slightly tilted, focused. I can practically feel his sharp ‘ears’ twitching.

“No.”

“This way,” he directed. And I followed. As I stepped ahead, something faint began to shimmer dimly against the haze.

“There,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes. It was a glint of blue. Small, quadrilateral.

“Huh?”

“Can you not see that?”

“I see… kinda nothing. You sure you're not hallucinating?”

“How dare you,” I retaliated, squinting my eyes. “I am sure.”

We approached it slowly. The object was a vibrant blue, chipped from multiple edges, starting to almost crack completely.

I lowered myself and picked it up. “What is this?”

“A Blue Shard. Not a flux shard, though. It's used to craft things like the Ice Memory. It's… broken now, though. Can't use it anymore…”

“How disappointing.”

Ashen leaned in beside me, shielding his eyes. “Disappointing how?”

“It is useless. You said that.”

Ashen chuckled faintly. “Well, we weren’t gonna take it either way.”

He had a point; I dropped it. Once it exited the bounds of my shield, it started falling apart again.

Back to walking into the storm. But perhaps, maybe we were not as empty-handed…

Ashen’s hearing was something I have suspected a while ago. This moment confirmed it. The way he pinpointed that single off-sound amidst all the was impressive. But there was something else.

“Were you really unable to see it?” I asked, glancing sideways at him.

“Nope. Not even a glimmer. How did you find it?”

“I do not know. I simply… did.”

He blinked at me, then broke into a grin. “Wait, then this is great news! You can lead us next time a storm hits!”

I furrowed my eyes. “You are awfully cheerful about this.”

“Because it’s good! You’ve got freaky storm-vision! Wait, no, night vision! Bat eyes, whatever you wanna call it.”

“How flattering,” I muttered, though the corners of my mouth may have twitched.

He laughed, light, unburdened. “Of course! It fits you!” And for some reason, it did not annoy me.

“And you have abnormal hearing,” I added.

“Ouh!” He looked mock-offended, pressing one of his glove-like hands to the side of his head. “Hey, that’s mean. Abnormal? You’re lucky I don’t comment on your creepy blue eye thing.”

“It is not creepy, not freaky. It is functional.”

“So are mine!” he shot back, irritatingly smug. “It’s so fun to hear you mutter things you only wanted to keep to yourself, right~?”

Ah. Yes. That was a problem.

“Tch.” I glanced away, feigning disinterest. I need to be even more cautious… than I already am. I thought that I had been.

Before I could think of anything else, our shields glowed again. This will be quite the recurring line.

“Four,” he counted. “So… we’re two hours in.”

I nodded. Back to what I was up to.

Sometimes words that had never asked to be spoken aloud slip out unintentionally. They escape faster than I can catch them.

They are usually harmless, but something tells me that it is not always like that. Especially if someone overhears it. Remembers it. Waits for it.

Better to keep them locked where they belong: in my mind, unheard and unjudged. Even if I sometimes have to convince myself again and again, that what I am say— thinking—stays true to myself.

Well, that is easier to say than to do. Still… at least, I suppose, there are worse people to be heard by. Who? I do not know…

He does not seem so… hopefully—malignantly—persistent on my words coming back to punish me. 

…Why did I say that so specifically?

I do not remember why, but the feeling—even though no one has done it to me so far. The anxiety of that hope truly realizing… The grief of having your words be misinterpreted…

I hate that I am waiting for it.

I nodded. Time is passing by slower than I thought, even though we have barely found anything yet.

Perhaps next time, I will test just how sharp his ‘ears’ truly are. Maybe then, I will know if what I am bracing for… is realistic. Or just another ghost I have learned to flinch from.

The view ahead had cleared up to an extent. Is it just my eyes playing tricks on me or did the hail finally dissipate?

The barrage had thinned out. The last few needles of ice struck the barrier with dull cracks, until silence finally returned. The ground beneath and behind us was full of broken pieces I am expecting to soon disappear…

The wind too, had softened. I exhaled. I had not realized I had been holding my breath this entire time.

We ended up at something that looked like a frozen lake, with an island in the middle. I am sure that is not significant, though. It was massive. I feel like going around this might take two hours or so… How draining.

“Woo! We made it out, Cael!” He patted my shoulder.

“…Yeah,” I responded flatly. I mean, in the end, the shield has been protecting us the entire time.

“Come on, cheer up! This place might be full of surprises.”

“If by surprises you mean hazards, then yes,” I stated bluntly. Even though this place is arctic, I am sure that the lake is not completely frozen; we could fall in and drown when walking across it, for all I know.

“Stop being so pessimistic! Let me show you. Hmmm…” he hummed as he lowered his body down, shielding his eyes with a flat hand while scanning the area. “Aha, there!” He pointed out. I looked there.

A… flower? A mushroom. A red one. This was not what I expected for a berry tree to look like. Well, things are going better than they look, though the size of the lake still needs to be accounted for.

“See it?” He gestured loosely to it with one hand, palm up. “I’m sure you do. If you can tell me what the fruit looks like, then maybe we can save time by deciding if going there is worth it or nah.”

“Can’t you do it yourself?” I was unsure if my special night vision abilities merely helped clear my vision during obscure times or if it was actually as sharp as an eagle’s.

“I mean, it’s red, but who knows! Please help, o’ Dark Knight of Distant Vision!” He put his free hand on his chestplate, eyes glinting with pretend desperation. I guess that answered my unspoken question, but what is that?!

“Only if you stop doing that.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Go do it,” he said a lot more curtly now. I was not sure what I was expecting, but technically he did obey my request.

I proceeded to squint my eyes, hoping to get a better look. The fruit was also red, like its cap-like part with a long shape, slightly irregular at the base. Did Ashen mention anything red in regards to the items Corven assigned us to find?

Ah, yes. I almost forgot.

“I think those might be Pomeg Berries.”

“You sure? It might be an Apple tree…”

“Certainly,” I replied dryly. “An Apple tree. With a single stalk. Do not forget the red umbrella leaves. Truly, the epitome of botanical realism.”

He huffed. “Okay, Mr. Bat-Eyed, Eagle-Eyed, whatever. I was just trying to warn us…”

“Do not call me that, and no, you were guessing. Horribly.”

“Ouch. Harsh.” He clutched his chest. “You wound me, Cael. Again!”

I gave him a side-eye. “Are you going to keep doing that? Let us go already. We have a lot of things to do and I have something to test.”

“Ooh, Professor Cael’s launching an experiment?” He raised one eyebrow, wiggling it. Or at least, it looks like that. “You're gonna put me to sleep again?”

I did not reply, rushing off instead into the lakeshore.

“Hey, wait!” he called out, chasing after.

Once he caught up, I directed, “Step on it. If it is sturdy, we can just cross it directly. If not, we have to go around. ‘Why not me?’ Because I fly. ‘What if I drown?’ Then do it cautiously. Do not expect a miracle if you do.” It was a lie.

He gave me a look. “Geez, you're quick. Alright…”

Ashen hesitated at the edge, eyeing the glossy ice beneath him. He extended one foot slowly with the exaggerated motion of someone trying not to set a trap, testing the surface. Then, he inched forward step by cautious step, arms slightly out for balance. He looked ridiculous… I am just glad it is not me.

Natheless, it did not crack under his weight—a great sign. Once he deemed it was safe, he gave me a thumbs-up, cueing me to come over, still wobbling.

“You can walk on this?”

He struggled to keep his balance. “I mean, it's hard, but I can manage!”

“Sure. Do not trip, fire boy.”

“I won't!” he snapped, instantly slipping a little. His plume flared violently for half a second, flicking upward in sync with the stumble.

So it reacts when he slips, too. Another thing that will happen a lot. I made a note of that.

…Still amusing.

“Are you gonna keep staring at me like that?” he finally noticed, frowning while still focusing on his steps.

“What can I say? It is quality entertainment.”

“I know you're practically begging for me to just fall over already!”

“I am not, because I know. ”

“Oh, real funny. You must be a riot at parties.”

“Then maybe, instead of blabbering like this , you should try to prove me wrong, eh?”

He groaned, presumably running out of things to say. I suppose I did have a point.

We continued onward, the cold crunch of each step blending into the stillness around us. Nothing much occupied my mind. I was prepared to be walking for at least another hour, maybe more—

Until I heard a soft exhale beside me.

I glanced down, and… The island was beneath us. What? We were already here.

Once I looked below, I realized that we had reached the island. This was faster than I thought.

I estimated getting here in about half an hour or so. I could have sworn it had not been five minutes…

Maybe the openness of this area is getting to me. Whatever the case, it saved us some time. I would not complain.

He had already stopped losing balance. What a shame. But no matter; I just need to wait until we get to the other side again…

We did not linger on the featureless island. The ice was still uncharted on his side. He grumbled a lot.

It was just like the first half—the rushing sound of air, Ashen teetering, and the vermillion glint of the Pomeg Berry plant in the distance.

It still looked far, though obviously not so much as before. I would have expected twenty minutes, thirty at most, but considering how long it took getting to the island… maybe I should tone it down.

Perhaps five minutes. Then I blinked, and…

We were there already, without even rushing.

“See? I proved you wrong!” He faced me, arms wide in triumph. “No faceplants. I didn't even need to fly! I am just that good!” He put an arm on his hip, his eyes closing into those jubilant curves as usual.

“Yeah. You locked in so hard you do not even know what just happened.”

“Aw, c'mon! Where's my medal?” he whined.

“Forget that. Do you not notice anything wrong?” I stopped walking. Nothing is, so far, except…

“Oh, you just ruined the fun. At least say you're impressed.”

“No,” I replied sharply. “Just use your brains this once.”

“You’re just mad that I did it without failing—”

“Tch!” I cut him off. “Fine. I, am, impressed. Happy?”

“No, but since you did it anyway, sure.”

Turning around, the island was not far behind. No—actually, too far behind. Either my perception was faulty… or the world itself had warped. I hated the former more; I needed someone to back up my suspicions.

“Well, I mean, I didn't expect to get here this fast. I'm not too tired or anything.”

“Exactly, so…” I said, still trying to make sense of it.

“So what? Are you just gonna stand there?” He was already in front, rushing toward the tree.

I facepalmed as I reluctantly tagged along.

I glanced up. The fruit shimmered atop the stalk, red and bulbous and unmistakable, just like the strangely mushroom-shaped tree. Pomeg Berries.

Arriving earlier, he had already harvested the fruit and stuffed it in his bindle.

“Ashen. What I was trying to say, is that… this means locations can also look farther than they actually are. Like last time, but reversed.”

“Yeah, so? If that gets us to places faster, then what's the deal?”

“Well…” I ran out of words. He is not wrong, but I need something to justify myself, pronto. I abhor losing arguments.

“I just think it is worth considering,” I muttered, trying to recover. “If distance does not behave normally here, then we should not trust how far things look. Something that appears days away might be a ten-minute walk. Or the opposite.”

Ashen tilted his head. “So you’re saying… if I see a mountain waaaay out there,”—he pointed randomly—“I should run at it like a madman?”

“If you want to risk falling into sinkhole, be my guest.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

I gave him a scornful glare. “You are impossible.”

“And you are impressed,” he shot back, predictably.

I knew better than to say things like that since that always invited exactly this kind of response. In spite of that, I said it anyway, unable to hold back… Sigh.

Even though I ignored it, I sighed heavily, wishing I had not indulged him earlier. “Let us just go already. Before you find something else to brag about.”

“You're such a sore loser and I love it!”

I did not reply and kept going again; he snickered behind me.

We walked…

The lake soon vanished behind, swallowed by the fog while ahead, there was only another meadow of dead trees, identical to the last.

What should I think about right now?

When the world holds still in this way, you would think it invites reflection—yet somehow, in this suspension, nothing seems to be worthy.

…Perhaps that.

I have always loved those fantasy novels in my world. Always so thrilling, always packed with action. But now that I am in one, it is mostly silence, frost, and slow walks.

Still, I suppose those books always skip parts like this for pacing. But I… can not, especially not in this ambience.

Only the snow crunching under Ashen’s steps made a sound. Steady, rhythmic, soothing… Even more so when combined with this atmosphere. This is what I imagined when I listened to ambient music. I wish I had some right now.

I feel like I am both living and not living in the moment. My mind wanders too much, but I still feel time moving. I have observation as a pastime, but somehow I always miss details.

Is there even any way to know what I have failed to notice?

Oh? Now this is a detail I will not miss. No, I should not. I can not.

“Five.”

 Ashen nodded. Two hours and thirty minutes in.

…Is this really necessary?

I glanced down mid-step as part of my regular snow color review. Wait, the snow looked a little too blue—

“Stop!” I shouted.

Too late. A crunch, again. Ice shot up around us again, sealing us in a familiar spiky prison.

I sighed. 

“Another one of these annoyances… I literally warned you.”

“You warned me as I stepped on it!”

“Still counts. Also, go ahead. Burn it.”

The cannon formed. Without another word, he used Fire Spin to blast a hole through the ice. It cracked, melted, and hissed open, all in mere seconds.

He hopped through the scorched gap. “Let’s keep moving. Third time’s the charm!”

“It has only been the second,” I muttered, floating after him. “Are you not tired? Do you not need a break after all this?” I asked, not to say I needed one.

“Nah! You know me. Treasures are waiting for us!”

“Sure…”

Another empty stretch.

There is a lot I do not know about this world. It is hard to imagine how much we have done without making any progress at all.

When should I start confronting the unknown?

There is probably not a better time than now.

I seem to have forgotten a lot of things ever since I entered this realm. Not everything, though. I still remember what matters, surely… the capital city of Canada: Ottawa. The boiling point of water. This random moon of Neptune called Laomedeia.

But I cannot remember why I react this way to certain things. Why I hate being called ‘smart’. Why I felt so helpless that time when Ashen was only trying to train me. Why I simultaneously like and dislike connection. Why I expect judgment in every room. Why my heart resonates with it so much.

Someone taught me that. How about I try now?

I attempted to answer my questions…

Nothing. It is just… black. Blank. Static.

Maybe I am just imagining it. Maybe I picked these instincts up along the way. Observation. Pattern. I do that. I learn.

And yet… Some of these patterns feel like scars.

There is no point dwelling on feelings I can not trace. It is inefficient. They will pass. Eventually.

“Cael, two more shards!” Ashen pointed out and started rushing before I could respond.

“Oh? Yeah. Coming.”

Running is always fun. Well—was.In this case, it is not; I technically float, but that is beside the point.

It is still thrilling. A kind of challenge. An unspoken dare to prove that you are capable of escaping whatever is chasing you—disaster, death, time itself. 

I have always cherished this one-of-a-kind experience, since while some—or maybe most of these would be ineluctable, this time… you can actually do something.

Floating changes the mechanics in a good way. No more impact on my legs, no more sounds of jarring landings. Just clean and light forward motion.

Does that make it less intense, though?

“Four out of five!” he exclaimed, slotting the Ground flux shards into the pouch.

“How about we make that target ten…? Five multiplied by two is ten.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right! Let me correct that— ahem, four out of ten!”

I let out a low hum. Not out of satisfaction, interest—just obligation, probably.

This was starting to feel… still. Somehow, in the middle of the zone. Should I be feeling more adrenaline? More dread?

I do not crave danger, but at least it is stimulating…

Even when you are in one, the apocalypse has its slow days, I suppose.

What even is my goal in this world? Anything concerning myself being a Darkrai?

We have the obvious: to restore the world alongside Ashen. But what else? I have not even weighed if that has any consequences.

Should I try finding out my origins? Perhaps, if I could learn one thing or two about remembering your dreams from Ashen… Am I even ready to confront it?

No. I have said it myself, and I will say it again: I am never ready for anything. And that is probably because… I do not even know what “ready” feels like. How does one measure that?

Is it when you stop feeling afraid? When the fear feels small? Or when you accept it will never go away, and move anyway?

I am just never confident enough in myself.

Being confident…

It always sounds so easy, but the worry is Herculean to wash away. Even when you have convinced yourself that you will not die, that logically nothing would happen to your well-being if what you have predicted still happens, that you can always just ignore what happens.

I gave up on that a long while ago. But now, maybe I have a real chance.

After all, I am the harbinger of darkness, am I not? The one who creates nightmares. The one who controls it. The one who slips beneath consciousness and twists it into terror.

…Not that I have tried it. Sometime I should. Though I still have not decided when. With consent, of course. 

But anyways, that should mean I fear nothing . I am the nightmare. The monster.

That is what I was told. I used to forget who said it first… But now, with the townsfolk’s whispers etched into memory, I have something concrete. Something to hold up when my mind starts asking again.

A thud. One of those floating chunks has fallen again. Not surprising. It was too distant to have any

The snow stretched ahead—white, cold, blank. Like a canvas. Or a grave. A graveyard of snow. …Obviously.

“Six,” Ashen stated. Our shields glowed again. Three hours in. “What’s the matter?”

“There are a lot of things on my mind, but… I am just bored. Do not mind it.” I glanced away slowly.

Ashen blinked. “Bored?”

He almost sounded offended. “Oh no. No no no. We can't have any of that here—not with me around!”

“Are you not?” I asked.

“Me? Nah.” He beamed. “Why would I be?”

I stared at him, puzzled. Some people seem to have an unfathomably high boredom tolerance, unlike me. “How?”

“Meh, I dunno! I guess you just need to start thinking of weird stuff. Basically, make your own fun.”

“Fun? Your own?” I repeated, incredulous.

“If you don’t entertain your brain then you might just go insane, y’know? I’ve been traveling alone. Daydream or you’ll get existential dread… Desperate diseases require desperate remedies.”

“Dark.” Just like me. He does have a point, though.

“Well, not so much! Okay, so… like, what if we surfed on waving snow dunes? Like, what would the texture be like? Is it just like water? Or… just try giving these dead trees names.” He pointed at a singular one in the middle of the snowfield. “What if they represented someone? What would that someone be like?”

“Those are very specific hypotheticals.” I could never. My imagination is not that wild nor vivid. “You make it sound so easy,” I said with a wistful undertone.

Ashen grinned at me like it really was that easy. “Well, yeah! You just… let your brain be dumb. Don’t overthink it.”

“I do not know how to do that.” It slipped out quicker than I could stop it. Just a matter of fact.

His smile just faded into something softer. “Oh. That’s fair. Why so?”

“I am not sure how people… invent things from nothing. When I try, I forget where I was going with it. Or it all fades halfway through. Like my brain refuses to build things it knows are not real.” I added quietly, “Even if I want it to…”

Ashen glanced at me. His expression is unreadable. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “That makes sense. I can never imagine you like that, heheh… It’s hard to build stuff—even when you have the foundation—when you don’t have the bricks.”

“…Bricks?”

“You know—like memories. Or, I dunno, safe places. When you’ve got those, your imagination has somewhere to go. But if you don’t…” He shrugged. “Then you gotta borrow from someone else’s. Or start small. Like—this tree over here?” He pointed again. “It’s a cranky Glalie who throws snowballs at little Snorunt. That’s it. That’s the whole story.”

I stared at the dead plant. It was regular, bent to one side and hollowed by frost. 

I squinted my eyes, trying to make out something, but nothing came up.

“I do not see anything… How do you come up with this? Plus, it just ends after that. Where is the fun?”

“Hmm… Guess that doesn’t work with you, huh? Figures. You wanna try something else?”

“I… have no idea.”

“Okay then. You don’t wanna make stuff up? Let’s talk about real stuff!”

“Such as?”

“Well, I’m just gonna ask you stuff, and you answer. Just like a normal chat. I’ve just realized how little I know about you!”

“That sounds like small talk. Exhausting…” I complained flatly.

“Yeah, but it’s gonna be fun. This time, I promise!”

“I do not think that is how it—”

“Too late. Favorite color, go!”

“This… shade of blue. I do not remember its name. Midnight blue? I just like deep, grayish, shades of blue. Similar to the ones you see in the night sky.”

“That fits. Really well. Now I can see why you became a Darkrai.” He chuckled.

“Probably not.”

“Probably yes! Okay. If you had to be another species of Pokémon, who would you be?”

“I do not know… You go first.”

“Ooh… I think I would be a… Hawlucha? They can fly, they look cool, they fight. Just like I do. Or I could just stay as myself. Armarouge. Because, you know, they protect people. But they also can look silly at the same time.” He points toward himself. “Like me! Okay, your turn.”

I sighed a little, my eyes not quite meeting his. “I still… I am already a Darkrai. It is not something I question.”

I looked down at my claws, clenching them. “How can I be anything else if I am still unsure of what this means?”

“Huh?”

“I just find it easier for others to… decide who they think I am. Maybe then I would wish to be someone else.”

The cheer from his expression ebbed slightly. “So… you’re fine with that? But you own yourself; you determine who you are. Who you want to be.”

“Something in me tells me that is not true,” I murmured. “What is the use when people do not care who you want to be? Who you are trying to present yourself as? Refuses to accept your explanations due to their preconceived notions?”

His eyes slanted, the warmth in them dimming into something more solemn. “Is it about the visit to the town?”

“I… No. It has been there since long ago.”

“Who told you that?”

“I do not… remember. The town is just an… example of what I mean. But they were not the original doers.”

“Don’t let it get to you. If you keep thinking that, then—”

“No use. It does not have the same effect when it is only—”

He exhaled sharply, clenching his fists like he was trying not to yell at the air. Afterwards…

“THEN I’LL DECIDE WHO YOU ARE!”

He spun in front of me, and held one of my shoulders tightly with his unoccupied hand, stopping me right in my tracks, closing his eyes passionately.

“I THINK YOU’RE COOL AND NICE! NICER THAN YOU LOOK! EVEN IF YOU WERE ANOTHER POKÉMON I’D PROBABLY STILL WANNA TRAVEL WITH YOU. YOU’RE GONNA SAVE THE WORLD TOGETHER WITH ME AND EVERYONE IS GONNA SEE YOU AS A HERO, NOT A VILLAIN. YOU’RE. NOT. A. MONSTER. YOU’RE MORE THAN THAT, GOT IT?!” he shouted with theatrical force.

I just stared at him, stunned, before he opened his eyes, let go of me, and stepped backwards, looking at me expectantly. The wisps in his eyes made him look… oddly radiant. More than he would have looked without it. Determined.

How long has it been since someone raised their voice… for me? Not at me?

It feels like it has been so long. I do not recall when, but I am sure the people in my world have done that in the past, right?

Yet… it feels like I felt it was far away. Prior to him yelling at me.

“I understand,” I said quietly.

“Are you sure?”

“No,” I admitted, “At least, not yet.”

But part of me wanted to.

“But you will, okay?!” Ashen shouted. His gaze softened as he walked backwards, beckoning for me to continue. “Because I’m here. That’s why I’m here too.” He turned around and focused on the upcoming path again.

Huh? ‘That’s why he is here’?

Chapter Text

Falling into step (but I am floating… whatever!) beside him, a strange weight settled over my chest. Heavy, unidentifiable, yet familiar. What does it mean? I do not understand.

At least it fed that part.

“Do you want to talk about something else? Preferably lighter, yeah?”

“Just go ask me. I am too tired to think of questions.”

“What’s your official stance on…”

Our shields glowed by the time Ashen could finish off his sentence. “Wait— seven.” I almost lost count. Three hours and a half in. But that was when I noticed something odd.

“Hold on. Was that there before?”

“Huh?” Ashen turned.

“There. Up. Left.”

His shield—erstwhile flawless—now wore a thin crack. Should I be worried about this?

“Oh. Uh-oh. There’s one on yours too.” He pointed at where it was. Indeed, it was there.

“‘Uh-oh’? What does this mean? Elaborate. Fast.”

“Okay, so like… shields are great and all, but they’re, uh, not invincible. They can crack and shatter if they take too much.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What? How come you did not mention this beforehand?!”

“No one's written a guidebook yet! I might forget some things, sorry!”

“I was under the impression they lasted eight hours. Or twelve hours, in this case…”

“They do! Technically! It’s just, you know. They also have a limit on how much punishment they can take before they break.”

I squinted my eyes in worry. What would it take to widen it? One spear? A few? Would it shatter all at once or give us a warning?

“Hey, now we know, what matters is what we do now. We just need to take shelter whenever one of these disasters strikes, okay?”

“How did you forget to do that formerly?”

“I never had one shatter completely before, since doing that was always a habit of mine. Over time, I guess I kinda forgot that fact and figured they just—held! I guess I just got too comfortable with you around…” He held the back of his head, eyes flicking away.

“But what if we can not find one…? What if we forget to pay attention to the shield and it breaks before any of us can notice? Is there even any indicator?”

“We just do that thing again; move faster, that’s all. And—uh—no, there's no official alert or anything. I think it shatters once the crack spreads all the way. It’s just a small one for now…” He forced a smile. “No need to freak out.”

I frowned. “Just… do not tell me not to worry. That never works.”

“I might’ve also forgotten it because I put it at the back of my mind after seeing you so anxious. Didn’t wanna add pressure on you.” He looked down. “Sorry.”

“I… understand. I— It helped to know it sooner rather than later.” I was about to say ‘thank you’ but I dropped it halfway.

Ashen blinked, then let out a breath that turned into a quiet laugh. “You actually get it?”

He shrugged. “I mean, I guess keeping it to myself was kinda dumb if forgetting about it wasn’t dumb enough already. And still… you didn’t snap at me or anything. You even said it helped.”

Honestly, because his arms are directly attached to his armor, the entirety of it gets lifted up along as well; it feels mechanical. I see it often, yet I still forget to describe it clearly… Maybe I am not as free from my dumb moments like his as I like to think.

Ashen suddenly twisted his face exaggeratedly, wobbling his arms and chest like a puppet on strings. “Usually people go like ‘I didn’t need to know that anyway! You hid it from me and you could’ve just done that until the end! You’ve made my day worse!’” He snorted through the performance. “But you instead saw it as valuable info and moved forward. You’re… amazing.”

He looked at me, softer this time. “Thanks for not freaking out at me. I… wasn’t expecting that. Really.”

Well, no, I am inside. I exhaled, my breath fogging slightly despite the barrier. Another thing to worry about—though I did say I wanted something stimulating. I suppose I got it.

Now, it is not as easy as just ramming through disasters because the shield absorbs the effects.

I must have missed the sound of the cleft forming during the icicle barrage. The air had been full of splintering noises. My ears—if I have them—are probably not sharp enough to detect subtle shifts like that. Can Ashen be relied upon to notice them?

I could ask, but no answer is enough to assure me wholly. You cannot confirm the truth of a ‘yes’ unless you see it happening for yourself—which is not always possible.

So… I guess I should just prepare to deal with it when it does happen.

“Oof—! What the—”  he stumbled, flailing briefly until he caught himself on his hands and knees. It was not one of his own ridiculous gestures; he genuinely tripped.

“What was that?” I scanned the path.

Over… what? My vision is sharper than his—I should have seen it. But there was nothing. Just snow… and a stray fleck of cinnamon. 

Ashen pushed himself up with a grunt, brushing away a bit of frost with the back of his glove-like hands. “Wait, hold on—that. That’s the culprit!”

“A… seed?” I asked.

He leaned down and picked up. “Wait, yeah, it is! You got it!”

Its shape was that of a compressed ovoid, engraved with a blue sigil: an imperfectly circular ring surrounding a central dot, identical on both its upper and lower faces.

“What do they do?”

“Well, they're all different. This one, for example, is an Eyedrop Seed.”

“Continue.”

“Well, it's supposed to help you see invisible things—like traps or hidden enemies. That was what it used to do during the mystery dungeon era… Now, I'm pretty sure there's nothing like that. But! It also enhances your vision in general. Hey wait, why don't you try it, Mr. Nightfall Detective?” He pressed it into my palm, grinning expectantly. I stared down at it blankly.

“How am I supposed to use this?”

“Simple. Eat it!”

“…How does one even eat—”

“No more questions. Just eat it!” he barked playfully, then shoved my hand up toward my face.

I reflexively obeyed. It was like biting a pebble: tasteless, rigid, and unpleasant to swallow. I have eaten sunflower seeds previously, but somehow this still felt off. However, if Ashen acts as if eating these was absolutely normal, maybe I will get used to it soon enough.

Then… it seemed to kick in. A soft tingle rolled behind my eyes, gentle—then sharp. Ouch.

I fluttered my eyes slowly. The world warped starting from the edge; colors deepened, and the blur at a distance began to fade into distinct shapes and edges. Not zooming in like using a telescope, but… clarifying.

Ashen leaned in. “Working yet?”

“…Yeah. Just feels like the world upscaled its resolution.”

“Good. By the way, it's temporary, so make the best use out of it, okay? ”

“Yes.”

“Go, go! Get scanning!” He raised a fist as if cheering me on.

I nodded and proceeded to survey the area. When nothing in the vicinity stuck out, I tried focusing on the areas that would normally be indistinct with my regular vision.

Something glinting caught my eye. It did not seem to be a Blue Shard again—the glow was more intense, shaped irregularly and was an icy, lighter shade of blue.

“There.” I looked toward the source.

“Awesome… I just see white over there. What is it?”

“I am not sure. But indubitably, it is not a berry, seed, nor a Blue Shard.”

“Okay, there we go, then!” he pumped his fist skyward and took off, glancing back at me mid-rush.

Why is he running ahead of the discoverer?

“Wait! Are you sure this area is not spatially distorted? Who knows, it might be farther than it looks!” I scrambled after, raising my voice slightly due to distance.

“Nope!” He lowered his hand and looked around. “Everything is moving by like normal. Don't worry!”

Initially, I could not quite believe him—not out of spite, but anticipation—although it did seem that everything was moving normally.

“Careful! You know what I have warned you about…!”

“Yeah, yeah! What are you waiting for?”

I hastened my pace to catch up, but that was when I heard a crack.

A jagged line tore across the ground beneath him like lightning through the sky. The snow shattered, some falling out and getting thrown violently, while broken pieces of rock flew out. The terrain dipped violently.

“Aah—!” Ashen’s foot slid out from under him.

“Oh—! Coming!” I said, but I stopped short. My chest coiled.

If my assumptions are correct, he is risking his life falling into something possibly endlessly deep. He is in danger. Why does this feel so new and familiar at the same time?

My body did not move right away. It should have. I wanted it to. Yet of course! Of course it could not be that easy.

I should be able to float forward and fix it like it’s nothing. That’s all this is, right? A problem I can solve. This is fine. He is fine. He will be fine. He has to be.

No… I could lose him. And it would be my fault. The only, the very time I am in control—

(Why do you care so much? Did you not say he was just an acquaintance?)

That is right. That is what I told myself. But why does this feel like something I cannot afford to lose? Like it was more?

No. He said I had a big heart, did he not? That was probably it. Just my inherent character.

…That still felt off. A Darkrai whose character is intrinsically kind? Hah…! How laughable, is it not?

(Regardless, then stop! Now is not the time to worry. You have to act!)

I came over and the next thing I knew, he was dangling over the edge of a sudden ravine, hanging on with one hand—his other still holding the bindle in a death grip.

“…Heheh.” He grinned even though sweat was dotting his forehead. “It’s not spatial distortion, so they went for glitz instead, hahah! My bad…”

Still joking. Still pretending like it did not matter. Is he trying to…?

“Now is not the time for those. Hanging in there?”

“Ye—yeah.”

“Need a hand?”

He let out a lazy hum as he glanced to the side, eyelids falling down in worry.

I took a deep breath as I readied myself to witness the depth of the ravine. Pitch black without a flicker of the end.

What would it be like to fall and never stop? To cling to the edge, hopelessly as your strength faded, waiting for someone who never came? Or to have someone come, but then abandon you without a reason or expedite your demise?

I did not need to imagine, because I already knew. Why…?

My breath caught. But not now. I can still try. This is all in my hands.

Can I— No, now is not the time to doubt myself.

I floated forward to reach beneath his arms and haul him up. I dared not look down; it was only about getting it done. Heavy as usual, but the burst of adrenaline got me through.

“Whew. Thanks, bud…”

“This is why I told you not to be so rowdy.”

“You’re still acting like a grandpa even now!” he wheezed, one hand clamped across the midsection of his armor.

I watched him laugh it off like it was nothing. Like he had not just almost—

I looked away. He was fine. That was all that mattered. 

(You did it. You saved him.)

I… did. Indeed. But what if next time I am not so fortunate?

(No. This all came from your bravery. Just keep this up.)

This felt like more than relief, even though he is just… someone I travel with. Right? Nothing more. Yet, I feel shaken.

I still was not sure of everything.

I paused to clean off my thoughts and looked at the huge fissure in the ground. It was a long one… Sigh.

“Great. Now we have to go around…” I complained faintly.

“Buddy! You know I always have an idea.” He patted my back.

“Since when…?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He pointed to the other side. “Why don’t you just go float over the ravine and grab whatever you see there?”

“But…”

I hesitated, eyeing the spot where the ravine used to be. Now it was gone? The ground looked… fine, like nothing had ever happened. Like it had never broken. Like he had not even nearly fallen.

“Oh.”

“Well, would you look at that! It fixed itself for us!”

“What just happened?”

“Probably time loops. It doesn’t matter anyway; you can fly! I believe in you. C’mon!” He pushed me softly from the back.

Right. Right . I am good. I have the ability to. There is nothing to fear. It is not like I can fall.

I just wished my body agreed with my mind.

I had a feeling this fissure would somehow open up again due to the slightest air current caused by my movement…

I exhaled slowly and went off the… ‘edge’; I am not sure where the boundaries of the ravine lies now that it has been patched up. Levitating here felt distasteful especially when I knew what had just been below me minutes ago. I drifted forward bit by bit, heart ticking so hard against what probably are my ribs.

“You’re doing great!” He gave me a thumbs-up. “Keep going!”

But midway through…

CRACK—the raucous sound snapped the silence. The earth beneath me split again, rupturing exactly like before.

I jerked in the air, startled. I could feel my eyes widening at the sight of it, but I did not fall, as much as I felt like I was. I froze there—suspended like some puppet on a broken string—watching the ground stretch apart again.

I… How do I know I will not fall?

Our shields glowed.

“Eight! C’mon!”

Four hours in. Time is running out, but I still have not answered all of my questions yet…

I—If I do, I will not be able to latch on to anything. What if I can not activate my floating powers when I do? In time? Ashen would not be able to do anything. Is it even possible to trip on—

“CAEL! DON’T LOOK DOWN! JUST LOOK FORWARD! I BELIEVE IN YOU!” he yelled. He… is right.

Subsequently, I tried to do as he directed. It helped a lot. Besides, worrying does not help anyway…

And then—

It was gone, without a rumble, without any process of healing. Just a blink.

“You’re close! Keep going!” Ashen called from the other side, cupping his hands to amplify his voice. The cheering sounds weird when the fracture is not there.

I nodded weakly. I think. I do not even remember moving.

My breaths came shallow. The ground beneath me stayed whole… until it did not. Again.

Thankfully, I was only mere feet from the other side. With a sudden burst of speed, I finally crossed over. No more of that.

“See? I told you!”

I rushed over to the source of the glow. It took longer than I thought, but I reached it in the end. It was a transparent, baby blue, diamond. It looked dull without natural light nor shadows.

I picked up the gem—its cool glow catching in my palm. Is this of any value?

Time to check on him and… return.

I had not considered that.

I should be fine, right? I just did it earlier on—so now, I should be able to do it again.

I hovered above the stable-looking ravine. Of course it was. I knew better now.

I kept my eyes forward, just like Ashen had said. No looking down. No second-guessing. Just… move and get it over and done with.

It cracked open beneath me once. Then again, but I convinced myself to not not stop.

This time, I made it across in one breath.

“What’d you find?”

“This…” I opened my palm and showed him the jewel I had just found.

“Oh…” The shine in his eyes faded. “Just an Ice Gem.”

“…What about it?” I stared at the pale blue gleam. “Is this worthless?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but for us, it kinda is…” He sighed. “They boost the power of Ice-type attacks. Only once, so even then, there’s that. 

“I… am sorry.”

My hand closed around the gem. It felt heavier now that I know it was pointless. I wish I could let go of it, but…

Of course. Even when I succeed, it amounts to nothing.

“Hey—don’t beat yourself up over it.” He nudged my shoulder gently. “You win some, you lose some. That’s the whole adventurer gig, y’know?”

“But…” I said it too quietly, like it slipped out. “I was afraid—”

Oh no, what did I just say?! I… A scared Darkrai? I am going to be ridiculed for this…

I— No matter. He already knows. Nothing would happen.

“…That. I still went anyway, and it all amounted to nothing .”

“‘ Nothing’? ” he repeated, incredulous. “You can’t be serious! That was brave, really!”

I could not look at him. I stared at the ground, feeling my breath hitch. My fists clenched tight around the gem.

“What is the matter? It is just an Ice Gem. Just a joke. Like you said. Like everything else I try.”

“But still, you’ve put a lot of effort into it!”

“So what? Does effort mean anything? It did not even pay off. Something just… tells me it does not matter if it does not.”

Silence… I hate silence that happens in the middle of conversations, especially ones formed thus. One I did not intend to get into.

He sat beside me, quiet for a second, then spoke low.

“Hey… I don’t know who made you think your effort only matters when it ‘pays off’…” He rubbed his hands together. “But they were wrong. Dead wrong. You scared yourself just to help me. You agreed to it. Shouldn’t it mean something to you?”

I opened my palm to look at the Ice Gem. I swallowed. I hated how hot my eyes felt despite the cool hues of the gem. I was not even sure why…

No. I need to get this out of my sight.

I hurled the diamond into the currently cracked ravine.

There. I blinked my eyes again; it felt less warm. Good.

“Whoa—hey!” Ashen stepped forward, watching it vanish. “You… really didn’t want it, huh?”

I shook my head. I could not speak. Not with my throat the way it was now.

He looked down, face unreadable. “It’s okay if it mattered to you.”

My shoulders stiffened.

“That’s the worst part, isn’t it?” he added. “When something starts to mean something, even a little.., you feel like you have to destroy it before it destroys you.”

“I…”

“Do you think you don’t matter?”

I did not reply.

“I’ve never met one who throws something away that fast unless it hurt to hold. You’re not… okay right now, aren’t you?”

I do not even know if I am.

“Was that the first time someone made it feel like you did?”

I was not sure. I looked away.

“You’re allowed to… care. And feel like you do. And… let it all out.”

My head snapped toward him. I glared. Or tried to. “What, do you mean? ”

“I mean… if you were about to cry, you could’ve just said so. I wouldn’t’ve made fun of you. Maybe I’d tease you lightly, but I’d never.”

Me, crying? I am a Darkrai! Pfft. What is he even on about?

No. He… knew too much. Damn it! 

( “It was shiny. Kind of beautiful, actually. Even if it wasn’t ‘useful.’ I thought you might’ve wanted to keep it.” )

Did I not hide my emotions well enough? Did a free tear flow from my one eye? Did it jitter? I thought I did everything correctly. See what I mean by silence being interpreted as something else? Even when I gave him nothing to go off of?

( “Guess that’s not the kind of thing you let yourself want.” )

“ Shut . It!” I said aggressively, eyes squeezed shut. “I am done hearing your rambling! What do you even know about me? You are just holding things back here with your pep talk or whatever when we are in the middle of a flux zone right now!”

What did I just say…?

Silence. A horrible one. This is such a horrid moment.

Ashen was not smiling anymore. He just stared with a mix of awe and fear—not at me, but above me—where my plume was. Is it… undulating quicker now? So… it was true.

“I see.” His voice was hushed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you feel worse.”

It really does respond. Even before I realize it.

I should despise that.

But… maybe it helps. As I am seeing here. If it means someone might understand without me having to explain—

Maybe it is not so bad.

He turned, starting to walk. Then paused.

“If it makes you feel any better…” He glanced over his shoulder. “I think throwing it was kinda badass. Fits you. Really.”

I huffed. “Just get going.”

“Still proud of you,” he added quietly. “Even if you don’t keep the gem.”

We kept moving.

Ashen’s shoulders were a little more hunched than before. Less bounce to his step. He did not say aught nor even glance over.

I dared not look him in the eye. I hated the way I was still walking beside him, like nothing had happened. Like I had not snapped at the one person who—

No. Stop. I need to stop thinking about that.

But I can not.

I felt so naked right there. Like I was seen, moments afore I was ruined for it. It felt like my worst dream ever, no pun intended.

But he did not. I had no reason to…

What was he trying to do?

I am not even sure, but it feels like warmth. Like care. True care. Something about it felt different. He was not even wrong anyway.

Why did I yell then?

Maybe I was just tired. Maybe it was just part of my personality.

But what should I even do now during those moments? Nothing works. Nothing. I messed up. I failed to keep my own emotions in check. I lashed out at a partner.

Now I have to face the repercussions. I… What should I even do now? I feel so uncomfortable around him, but we are a team. We need to work together.

Should I apologize? No. I did not start it. I am not wrong.

I hope he does something. I do not know how to mend bonds after arguments. I should have never started it…

What could I have done differently there?

Perhaps if I had just redirected it to our expedition earlier… If I—

No. He is wrong. I feel naught. I do not care. Do not think about what he said. Anything else!

That tree. Perfect.

I had almost forgotten that shadows do not exist here. Everything looks so dull with a slight tint of gray coming from the color of the overcast skies. If there was light, everything would have looked more vibrant. Is this their true color?

Colors without shadows is something one would never see in a normal, functioning world.

Another glow. Do I really have to say it?

“Nine. Four hours and a half in.” I almost gagged after having to say that to him… “All thanks to—”

I was about to say ‘…your blabbering’ but I cut myself off.

“Hey, Cael. Is the Eyedrops effect still working?” he suddenly switched topics as if that never happened in aforetime. So that is what it was called. Good. I did not want to think about it ever again anyways.

I nodded once—barely. I disliked how stiff it felt. My body had gone weirdly cold, like my joints did not want to obey anymore.

But fine. Fine. Focus. Anything but the mess behind us.

“Okay, good! Try finding something else. Notice anything?”

I scanned the washed-out world ahead. Just the same thing everywhere. Until…

There. A glint. Just barely visible beyond a cracked edge of snow-covered stone. Light blue. Not quite like the last one, but close enough that my entire spine went rigid. 

No. Not that again…

“What is it?” Ashen asked.

“I… I see something glowing,” I said quietly. “Same color as it . Almost.”

He tilted his head. “You think it’s another Ice Gem?”

I frowned. “It might be that. What if I… find something worthless again?”

Ashen turned fully toward me. “Cael. That wasn’t worthless, okay? Plus, it wasn’t your fault. C’mon. Get searching. I’m sure we’ll find something good now.”

“Yeah…”

…He trusts me. Again? Even after the last discovery was a flop? Why?

I did not ask.

We headed there, with Ashen this time not being so obstreperous as last time, probably after learning his lesson or that… incident.

There, nestled in the middle of the cracked rock—barely poking out—a jagged chunk of something pale, translucent, and cold. But unlike the gem, it was not shaped like a crystal. Not carved or smooth. Just… ice—resembling an array of mountains. This reminds me of what Ashen…

His voice lit up behind me. “Wait—is that…?”

He knelt beside me, eyes wide. “Never-Melt Ice! That’s on our list!”

That checked out—probably why it seemed familiar.

He looked over with that warm, slightly too-wide smile of his. “You found something real. Valuable. Told ya.”

I could not speak again. I looked down at the ice and watched my reflection flicker in it—off-color, stretched, but still… mine and recognizable.

So this is what it feels like to be right about something. To be useful. Although… I did not feel as much about it.

Perhaps unhappy things are easier to feel.

“Good,” I muttered. “We can cross it off our mental list.”

He stood up. “Let’s keep going! Good job, Cael.” Ashen nudged my arm lightly.

I followed. I was not feeling particularly better, but I knew he was still walking beside me.

And for some reason, he still believed I could find something worth keeping. What does this mean…?

No matter. We continued walking along the flat stretch near the base of the mountain directly to the right of us.

Then, out of nowhere, we heard a grumble coming our way. Is this one of those floating chunks falling again, or something else…?

I turned toward the source. It was quite hard to make out but there seemed to be a flurry of snow… heading toward us?!

“Ashen, run!” I commanded.

Without asking why, he bolted immediately.

The rumble behind us deepened. Thundering, crashing, and devouring everything in its path, from the dead trunks to even boulders.  A monstrous roar swallowed the silence. When I dared glance back, it was more than what I thought.

Upon further inspection, it was not just snow, but also ice, rock, frozen air, and broken pieces of wood thick with blinding powder. A wall of white. An avalanche .

“Where do we go?!” Ashen yelled over the roar, skidding over a patch of ice.

“Literally anywhere away from where it is heading… Diagonally! Not straight, not perpendicular—out of its way! We will not outrun it otherwise!”

“Do you even think there’s enough time anyway?!”

“There are no cliffside caves in sight here! This is the only thing we can do!”

I could barely see the mountain anymore…

“Hold my hand, we can’t be separated! Hurry up. Just think about everything else later!” He stuck out a hand to me from behind.

I hesitantly intertwined mine in tandem with his. It was warm, yet felt really awkward, but he is right. No time to think about any implications! It is all practical.

Ice shards rained down; the flurry was catching up to us.

“Faster, faster!” Ashen shouted.

Once we reached the avalanche’s edge—where nothing pursued us anymore—it was already breathing down our necks. We held our breaths.

Ashen dove first, slipping, scrambling, nearly face-planting, taking me with him. I felt the avalanche grazing my shield at the back. Ouch.

I blinked hard, the sound of the barrage passing by. Ashen was curled beside me.

“…Are we alive?” he wheezed.

“Can you move? Yes? Then yes. We are alive.”

He flopped back, arms spread like a starfish. “We gotta stop doing this. My heart can’t take it.”

“But we have to,” I stated curtly.

He groaned. “I know, I know. Just let me have my moment…”

“Hmph.”

“Hey.” He raised an arm lazily and pointed to the back of my shield. “I think there’s something there…” He had to do so with the flat, mitten-like part of his hand—the only way he could, really. Looked interesting, to say the least.

“Huh?” I could not turn around since it would also rotate alongside me; my head is not that of an owl’s.

“Come closer… Yeah, there’s a scratch.”

A scratch? Must have come from the rush. At least it is nothing more—like a crack.

“I will be fine. The path ahead is clear, right? Come on.”

“But Cael,”—he sat up and caressed his calf—“my leg hurts!” he whined with an exaggerated tone.

“Did you not say you had limitless stamina?”

He perked up, pupils contracting. “Well, I guess I did. Yep, gotta stay true to my words!” He stood up with an overdone bounce.

“Yes, yes…! Alright.” He started walking.

Now, we were walking by the base of a cliff, just lined by normal, grayish brown rocks. It was a break from all the white I have been seeing.

I paid attention to it not only due to that, but also seeing that it may contain hidden items, similar to the inscribed relics of the Joggins Fossil Cliffs.

Nothing has caught my eye so far. As usual, only the sounds of Ashen’s footsteps filled the stillness.

Looking at him again, the moment of him holding my hand replayed over and over in my mind, despite what he said—which I do agree with. It was really warm; classic Fire-types.

Now I am craving it again. This is starting to get annoying… Can I just think about something else?

The avalanche. Yes.

It reminds me of sneezing. Mountains sneezing would make sense, considering that it is definitely frigid up there.

I mean… I do not know how mountains in this dimension act. Could that be a possibility?

(No, Cael. Where is this thought even going?)

Speaking of sneezing… Can Pokémon sneeze? Do I even have a nose?

Sternutation can be caused by irritants or infections… Wait, can infections even happen here? Do we have an immune system? Blood—?

(Get back on track.)

It is usually caused by cold, dry air. And this place definitely suits it, yet neither of us have done that so far. This should mean that we can not sternutate.

However, it could also be that the shield is protecting us from it… Which seems likelier. Can its powers go that far? That would be impressive. Could this be a research topic? How would the methodology even go?

…I am still thinking about research even now? There would probably even be nowhere to publish it in this ruined world.

Sneezing… Bodily fluids…

One thing I have noticed about narratives is that they conveniently leave out every single process of excretion—except respiration, of course. Some do still include them—which, while it may seem disgusting, is respectable. Do Pokémon even—

Our shields glowed for the tenth time.

“Ten. Welcome to the five-hour mark, Cael!”

I squeezed my eyes shut; there was a prickling sensation behind… I covered the visible one with my hand, although I was careful not to rub them, as much as I wanted to.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Just… my eyes.”

Once it ended, I opened them; I could not quite feel a difference, except that… my far point has shifted closer.

“I think the Eyedrops effect has ended.”

“Aw, that’s unfortunate! Never-Melt Ice was still a worthwhile find, though, heheh.” His eyes scrunched into those little half-moons.

“Yeah…”

Wait, did I not mention that I was trying to pay attention to the rock face? I might have missed something while cerebrating!

I looked behind; I was right that I missed something… There was an oddly smooth-surfaced rock amongst the rough ones.

Sigh, does this mean I should not ponder about things, even during these empty stretches?

I will decide that later. For now…

“Stop. We need to go back.”

“Huh?”

“Just follow me.”

We backtracked to the slab of oddly smooth stone, half-sunken into the cliff wall. I scanned it more closely this time.

There; imprinted into the surface, not protruding—was a small gray spike. Its head was flattened against the stone. There were strange spiral-like curls at the top, held together by something that almost resembled ribbons. Three tiny buttons—or maybe air holes lined the shaft.

“What is this…?” I stared at it, confused on how to get it out. There was no clear gap to wedge fingers beneath, no lever or latch. It was not even a handle. Just… embedded decoration?

“Where? Let me see it!” He was still catching up.

I pressed my fingers to its flat shape and curled them as best I could around the edges. It should not have moved, but it did, somehow. With less resistance than I expected, it began to slide free.

I held the cool object in my hand. It was lighter than I thought and looked like it was made out of iron, but there is no rust…

“This.” I showed it to him.

“Oh, that’s an Iron Spike! It’s more on the rare side.”

Yet another object I have never heard of once. “And what does this do?”

“They’re part of a group of items called throwing items. As you can probably guess, you throw them. If it hits an enemy, it’ll deal damage.”

“Why would we need this when we can just use our moves?”

“Well, we use it when we can’t use our moves for whatever reason. Maybe the energy ran out, maybe you’re just a baby who doesn’t know any useful moves, or something else. But eh, when’s that gonna happen anyway, amirite? You raise a good point there, after all.”

I flicked a glance at the Iron Spike. “So, are you saying that we do not need this?”

“Well, not necessarily… We could always have them in case of those emergencies, but my pouch here can’t hold that many, so… as much as it is rare, eh. Just trust our moves! Wouldn’t we look silly throwing regular objects during a battle?” He shrugged with his hands.

“But,”—I closed my fist around the Iron Spike—“that means…” I trailed off.

I found something, only for it to be useless. Not worth enough to be taken. Again. I thought it would have mattered.

Ashen blinked at me for a beat, and then his expression shifted. “Hey. Cael.” He leaned in, eyes locking with mine even though I tried to immediately dart it elsewhere.  “You spotted that without the effect. That’s awesome.”

“Not again…” I was afraid of where this is going to go, especially after… that . “It does not matter to me so stop trying to change my mind. Just keep going.”

“It does matter,” he cut in. “It’s not only the value. The only reason we didn’t take it is because I didn’t have enough space!”

“But, does that not mean it is not valuable enough for you to consider making it an exception? Just… cut it out.”

“No, Cael. I’m not trying to make you think it mattered, okay? I just want you to stop feeling down in the dumps. I promise you I wouldn’t have taken anything else other than what we agreed to. Y’know, Corven’s stuff and those apparently useless berries… Unless it’s small enough, but that’s besides the point, okay! I wouldn’t even have found it anyway, which is worse. So, c’mon, gimme a little fist bump, or a nod, or brooding dark smile… or whatever you do when you’re proud of yourself!”

I stared at him. “Do I even smile?”

He winked. “If that’s the case, then just close your eyes. Like an arrogant person who thought they just proved something.”

“That sounds wrong.”

“Well, you’re right actually. Okay, okay, fine,”—he raised a hand in mock surrender—”it wasn’t forced anyways. Now come on, let’s get back to where we were at.”

I placed the spike back into the indent with a heavy sigh. Subsequently, it flopped back into the ground after a while—as expected—though I did not care enough, thus we moved onward. In addition, it would be impossible to keep it steadily impressed into the stone anyway.

The series of rock faces ended and it was replaced by yet another snowy plain.

It has been a while since I paid attention to the luminescent walls of the Zone, but it seems that we are still inching closer to it; it looked bigger than before. Good. We are still on the way.

“Ashen.”

He stopped. “Yeah?”

“No. Keep going. I just wanted to ask: what other things are throwable?”

“Oh. Pretty much anything natural that’s hard . Pebbles, or more precisely Geo Pebbles, Sticks, also known as tree branches, et cetera. Surprisingly, there’s not much of these. I can list all of them if you can even remember…”

Is he seriously doubting me right now? I shot him a glare.

He noticed and chuckled nervously. “HAhahA, right. Okay. Besides the three I’ve mentioned, there are Gravelerocks, Iron Thorns, Golden Thorns, and Rare Fossils. I’ve never seen the last two… heh.”

I wonder if different areas have different loot densities. As if, is it easier to find loot in a snowy plain, near the base of a mountain, cliffs, or dead tree taigas?

So far, I have nothing to suggest that though. That information would have been really useful…

Then, I noticed something standing against the white snow was something in a deep, contrasting blue.

“Hey, look over there.”

“You’re always finding something, huh? Impressive.”

“…This is just a clear field. Perfect as a vantage. It is not surprising.”

“Hey, just wanted to cheer you up!” He patted my shoulders, probably in reassurance. “Time to get going to whatever that is then.”

Dead nowhere in the middle of the meadow was a small, radiant, semi-transparent orb, as blue as a pristine lake. A pale, steadily spinning white spiral sat perfectly centered within it.

Ashen approached it, crouched, and dusted away the rim of snow that half-buried it. “A Warp Orb! These are pretty common but super useful nowadays. We’re taking this with us!”

He shoved the orb to me. Cold as always.

“I… You are taking this, even when you said we did not have room for sizable objects like this in your pack?”

He blinked. “Huh? Well—yeah, but—but, it’s not—it’s not that big, and Warp Orbs are like, really useful—”

I stared at him. I could feel it again—that twist in my gut, and chest. Cold, coiling. Familiar.

“I see.” I looked at my hand, still curled around the orb; but it no longer felt like a discovery. Just another weight.

“Wait, Cael—please, don’t do that thing where you go quiet again. I didn’t mean—Look, I wasn’t lying! …Okay, maybe I did, but that wasn’t the intention! I wasn’t thinking. Thinking about it like that, yeah?”

I could not respond since I did not trust my voice not to crack. Not again. Not when I had believed him.

“If I could backtrack, I meant it also with essential survival items too… And this is it. But last time, it still wasn’t about the—”

“No, I get it. Let us go. Our journey must continue,” I said flatly, still not looking at him. I did not truly understand. It was a lie—half-shielded by good intentions—but I did not want to drag this out like last time.

Ashen stood still, reaching a hand toward me, then let it hover in hesitation. “I— Okay…  Just know that… I didn’t mean for this to happen. It wasn’t what I meant. I really regret it. I guess I still have a lot to learn.”

You do. Will you?

That was what I wanted to say. But I swallowed it.

I managed to hold the orb, firmer this time. Not just out of obligation. Even if I still had no idea what it truly did, what mattered more was the way it looked important. Like something that would be. Maybe… I am too.

But now, it was not about the item anymore. It was about how he said something just to lift me up. How he looked at me like I mattered. And how that turned out to be a lie.

I proved my worth only to find out it was a lie all along… It was a no-win situation.

My grip tightened slightly.

What else has he told me that might have been false? What if his kind words just… acts of deceit?

I glanced over for no more than a second. He was not looking at me—but down, shoulders low.

I needed to know more about these orbs—and him too. He has not told me anything, nor did have a chance to—but I have just cracked something between us again, did I not?

No. It is his fault. He was the one who made a claim he could not confirm. The one who disproved himself. The one who did so for survival’s sake. The one who lied .

Howbeit… Am I being too harsh? Or is this what it takes to protect myself?

Maybe I should have understood. That he did not lie out of cruelty. That he did it out of desperation. Out of hope. That maybe—just maybe—he meant well, even if he failed.

But how can I be sure of that? I cannot see inside his heart. I cannot trust—

Not fully. Despite everything, I still wanted to keep believing him, even after he broke it once.

Maybe I just need to look at the signs. In his voice, in his body… even if I cannot even entirely believe my perceptions. Anything just to convince myself to trust him yet again, right?

Each word from him felt… genuine and assuring. He did not double down, ask me to forgive him, nor defend himself, but instead even admitted it. Let myself feel upset. Not everyone would have done that.

Everything he said felt very direct, and nothing was evasive… such as ‘I regret it’. Furthermore, he also said he was not thinking, which should imply it was not part of a scheme, but him just being careless—which is also suboptimal. Nevertheless, that must count for something, right?

I do not know why, but it made me feel more uneasy. Like it was all calculated meticulously. Something inside tells me that words can be manipulated. Even true ones.

Words… are not enough. I need to resort somewhere else—the signs must be there. In what he did, how he moved…

He reached his hand out, then stopped, as if… trying to grab my trust back? My forgiveness?

He did not smile. Not a nervous grin at all, like he usually displays. But that is a serious expression anyone can easily pull off… What about his voice?

Was it shaky? Hesitant? Soft? Determined? Conceited…? I can not read his tone.

Wait, no—he stuttered at the start. Like he was frightened he made another mistake. But then his voice steadied over time. Is there any difference if it was like that at the end?

It might suggest that… he did not expect things to turn out this way, yet accepted his fate, right?

…As if I even remembered exactly how he acted before. My memory of intricate details is—lacking.

The only signs I have right now is him—again—looking down. It should suggest he does feel guilty. But who in their right mind would celebrate it blatantly anyway?

I know logic. I know pattern recognition. I know how to spot lies on paper. But truth in a person… is always shifting. Like trying to grab smoke. You think you have it—only to realize it’s already slipped through.

Looking for signs only returned guesses and uninterpretable facts. Maybe that is all trust is: a decision made in the dark. Like a leap you take blindly, ahead of seeing where you will land. Like anything done without light, really.

…Fine. I will just let this go for now. So what if he lies? It is not like I will die.

The silence between us kept unfolding. It was exhausting, but surprisingly not uncomfortable—perhaps since Ashen did not force anything upon me.

Our shields glimmered familiarly. We have yet entered another lifeless boreal forest.

“Eleven,” I announced. Five hours and thirty minutes in.

Ashen shifts beside me. “…Hey,” he murmurs, hesitant. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Oh.” He scratches the back of his neck gently. “I was kinda saving my appetite. I thought—maybe the next time we find another berry tree we could… y’know, eat together.”

He was not smiling, not forcing optimism—like he usually does.

“I guess it’s kinda dumb especially after everything,” he says, quieter now. “Just thought it’d be nice. If you wanted.”

He is not asking me to fix anything nor pretending that everything is fine. Just… inviting me. I said I would have let it go anyway. That was enough of me.

“If that is the issue, then I could. My stomach is not particularly full anyway and I could use a little energy restoration.”

His gaze softens. “Really?”

“Yes.”

A smile starts spreading on his face. “Then let’s get searching!”

I nodded and we continued. Amongst the fallen trees was something vibrant—must be a berry tree.

“Follow me,” I commanded and headed there without needing acceptance.

“Yum! I’ve been waiting for this, heheh.”

The plant was another odd one. Like that of the Pomeg Berry.

There was a single brown stalk rising from the snow, bark smooth and slightly ridged. On its tip, four narrow, cream-colored ovate leaves extended in a cross pattern. Above that, a second, frosty blue berries densely lined the upper—almost imperceptibly beige stalk jutting upward. It blends in quite well with the snow; if not for the berries’ gloss nor the weirdly colored lower half, I might have missed this altogether.

“Go on,” I told Ashen without prior context whatsoever, expecting him to already know what I meant.

His eyes practically gleamed. “Yache Berries! One less thing we have to worry about!”

He immediately reaped the berries, its flowers starting to develop already, then bit into it greedily, eyes arching into soft crescents. “At last…” He beckoned me to munch on the berries as well. “Join me! Yeah?”

I nodded and came closer. While I was plucking one out, he loaded his bindle with said berry.

Before chewing on it, I studied the berry. It was quite plump, shaped somewhat like a cherimoya, with a small taper at the bottom. Its skin was a chaotic mosaic of blue, irregularly arranged polygons overlapping each other—ranging from turquoise, teal, cyan, and pale blue—reminiscent of stained glass. From the top of the berry sprouted three small, stiff, rectangular leaves. Unlike the rest of the tree, it was a pale green.

Its texture was smooth, but the taste was slightly astringent. There was a strange dryness to it—not like chalk—but like biting into a fruit that had wrung itself out. All this reminded me of dried, sour blueberries. I was not fond of the flavors, except for the lingering aftertaste—crisp and cool.

Ashen is munching on them ravenously. Based on the tree, I am assuming he is on his… second already, while I have not even finished mine halfway.

“I swear,” he says between chews, “I can feel the Ice energy coursing through me already—ooooh, maybe I’ll learn Ice Punch soon!”

“You do not even know any Ice-type moves.”

Can Armarouge even learn any?

“Well, yet! ” he fires back, grinning. “Keyword: yet. Who knows if I could learn one or two?”

He leans back. “Mmm… That chill at the end just hits the spot. Liking it so far?”

My tongue still tingles from the weird mix of flavors. “How would one like this kind of taste?”

“I mean, this is the only thing we have right now. Eat them while it’s still there since we’re not going to be carrying anymore.”

“Is that why you seem to never run out of space? Because… you never really pack food?” I took another bite.

“Yep, exactly!”

“I see…”

There was a pause, which was unexpectedly not awkward. It was the kind where even silence feels like something shared.

“Hey,” Ashen says, breaking the moment. “I forgot to mention this earlier, but thanks for still joining me anyway.”

“It is fine.”

“Still. I’m glad we’re sitting here. Even if the berries taste like disappointment.”

“Did you not say they… ‘hit the spot’?”

“They do! But like… emotionally. Not culinarily . It wouldn’t have without you.” He took another hearty morsel.

“Why did you not eat earlier? You seem… starved.”

“Uhh…” His cheeks were full. “I was kinda waiting so we could eat together.”

“…That does not seem like an efficient reason to delay nourishment.” My gaze flicked away. “But I… suppose the gesture is not entirely illogical.”

He gave a sheepish grin. “I wasn’t sure if you'd even want to share space with me again. So… yeah. I waited. Besides, if I ate alone by myself, wouldn’t that ‘hold things back’ as you always say?”

“You remembered I said that?”

“You say that a lot. How can I not start to remember that? Wait. I also just remembered something. Okay, okay…” He harvested another Yache Berry. I wonder why.

“…Okay.”

When we finished, we pressed on. Our shields glowed.

“Twelve! Welcome to the halfway mark, Cael!”

“Mhm… thanks.”

It was a weird feeling. The midway point always was. Whenever I crossed that invisible middle line, of anything, really—but mostly stretches of time—it felt like the rules changed. The first half feels slower and safer—somehow—but the second part… rushes at you. Every minute, every second, after the halfway mark lasts shorter than the prevenient one. Time passes by faster.

I do not know why it feels that way: like a countdown, like it is saying ‘you are running out of time’, like something starts ticking louder despite having been the entire time—even if nothing has operationally changed.

What explains this dread?

Perhaps, it is not really about time, but ineluctability. About how things, the end, get sharper the closer they come into focus.

But why does that not apply to the first half?

Maybe the apprehension reminds you that you are supposed to be heading somewhere. All of these are interconnected.

…I hate halfway marks.

“Whoa, the Zone looks beautiful from here!” Ashen said, squinting ahead.

The terrain began to dip, not steeply. We were entering a spacious valley, ridges surrounding us on both sides. The landscape from this height is… gorgeous.

“You agree, don’t you?” He grinned smugly.

“It is… not unpleasant.”

“What? Do the words ‘agree’ and ‘beautiful’ personally offend you?” He elbowed me lightly.

“Are you usually this persistent about being right? Just keep going.”

“I knew it! You do have taste buried in there somewhere!” He skipped a step as if that settled the matter, clearly too pleased with himself. “One day, you're gonna call something beautiful without choking on it. Mark my words.” He shot me a wink.

He laughed to himself, uncertain, this time—like it was a way to reassure himself. “Still can’t believe you’re even still here, putting up with me right now.”

I closed my eyes and sighed heavily.

He seemed so down earlier. I had assumed he was still dwelling on what happened earlier. Maybe he still is.

How he is still managing to tease me after everything… reminds me of our visit to that town. There is always a silence in him after incidents like that… until he just makes some offhand joke and acts like he has already moved on with a smile.

I do not know whether that means he is stronger than me, or just better at pretending. I am still puzzled and envious either way… Negative emotions—sadness, disappointment, guilt, shame, never cling to him the way they cling to me.

Perhaps he just knows how to keep them from settling in too deep. Maybe warmth is his way of outrunning the ache. But me, I feel like… I have let that happen way too many times. Let it sink, settle, and then stick. Will I ever be able to mimic him?

Probably not. That is what makes us different. What I need is a way to cope with said pain. I still do not know how, but I hope I can learn a thing or two from our travels together.

I looked forward again. The wind shifted, now slightly stronger, funneled into a narrow corridor. At the base, the headwaters of a river sprawled outward—completely ice-solid.

Stones were scattered like normal, but they gathered the most compactly around the stream. Being covered in snow, it was quite hard to make out, but they had a strange maroon, reddish tinge to it.

I came over, extended my legs and crouched down. “Is this normal?” I brushed off the snow so he could see it easier.

I do have a habit of immediately approaching whatever I find… enticing, usually after I deem it safe. Hope he does not mind me wandering off like that.

“Hm?”

“The rocks.” I tapped one with the back of my claw while looking at him.

He turned. “Oh.”

“That is not a ‘yes’ nor ‘no’.”

“Well, I guess you could say no, but it also kinda is yes since it’s natural…? They’re natural, but not exactly common .” His eyes slanted outward as he picked one up, holding it up to the light. “Those are cinnabar.”

I never knew Carbos was just Cinnabar. All the other vitamins are based on substances available in my world, after all.

“Why do you look so… displeased?”

He turned the stone in his hand. “Ah, well… minerals like these are what they use to make vitamins. They all increase different stats. Cinnabar gets processed into Carbos. Big speed boost. Zoom zoom.”

“…But we somehow can not use these?”

“Unfortunately, yeah.” He dropped the rock back into the snow with a soft thump. “They all need to be purified first but we can’t carry ’em for that. Shame, huh? Imagine how fast we’d be if we scooped all this up.”

“…Yeah.” I stood back up and started floating again.

He offered me a faint smile. “Guess we’ll just have to earn it the old-fashioned way, huh?”

I would have liked a free boost for my nimbleness without having to work for it… Sigh. I wonder if they can be exploited infinitely. Maybe that makes me sound lazy, but if there is a shortcut to moving faster—to getting away from danger sooner—why would anyone not take it?

Still, I guess it makes me more venerable. Did I not say effort counts for something…? It is something someone like Ashen would probably believe too.

It is also interesting to note how they work differently for humans and Pokémon, but I should not question that. Pokémon are just weird.

I glanced down at the Warp Orb still clutched in my other hand.

…At least this does not need to be ‘purified’, I think. I do not know. Ashen never explained to me what these were… thanks to myself, admittedly.

Speaking of which…

Our shields shone.

“Thirteen,” I stated. Six hours and thirty minutes in. I let the orb catch the light in my claw and shoved it to him subtly. “Incidentally, you have never told me what these were.”

Ashen blinked—then scratched his cheek, his smile faltering. Ah. So he remembered too. “Right… uh, yeah.”

“You said these were really important for our survival?”

“Well, yeah! This Warp Orb is part of a larger category of items called ‘Wonder Orbs’. They’re all different, like, they do weird stuff. This—”

“Are these not just more… ethereal version of seeds?” I cut him off.

He giggled, a little too quick. “Pretty much, yeah. But anyways, Back in mystery dungeon times, they weren’t super useful—’cause they’d just plop you somewhere random on the same floor, and the floor was, like, the size of a small park. You’d just be like… at most, 100 meters from your enemy. Like, those floors were kinda small. But now… flux zones count as one floor to these orbs. Even though they’re huge. So warping actually gives you real distance. Plus, like, these are kinda rare but not really so it’s better than Escape Orbs which teleport you out of the Dungeon—or in this case—the Zone entirely.”

“I see.”

“Keep holding on to it. It can, like… save our life.”

I hummed. The path ahead was smooth, until I saw another patch of snow that was… bluer than normal. I am positive that it is not just the ice from the frozen river.

“Watch out!” I warned. “Mind your step.”

He glanced down, feet mere inches from the trap. “Whoops! Thanks, Cael.” He sidestepped the frost bloom trigger.

I shrugged. “It is just part of my nature.”

Standing out among these burgundy rocks, a gray pebble caught my eye. Not only that, this one was a darker shade of gray—unlike the ones I have seen thus far. I would reckon this is slate; there was nothing particularly special about it, but since this is a world different from mine…

I reached out and picked it up. It was heavier than it looked…

“Hey. What is this?”

Ashen took a half-step closer. “Hm… I think that’s Gravelerock. Another throwing item, as you’d expect. Are you okay?”

“What do you think I am? This is not that heavy…” I paused, eyeing him. “But how do you know this is Gravelerock and not… something else?”

He gave a little laugh and patted my back. “Ah, silly Cael! Every rock here can be thrown. Usually they’re just Geo Pebbles, which is lighter in color.”

“Wait.” I tilted the stone again. “You are telling me that Geo Pebbles are that common? That all those rocks we have been passing by are Geo Pebbles?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, raising a hand to gesture vaguely at the path behind us, “but functionally, nah… The small ones like these are the only practically usable ones.”

He mimed chucking something overhand. “Those large boulders? Sure, you could throw one, but are you that strong? Probably not.” He shrugged. “Besides, you’d need a pickaxe or something to break them into smaller, usable pieces. I guess you could call ’em ‘Geo Boulders’ or ‘Gravelepebbles’, hah!”

“Ha… ha.” It was clever, but not… particularly funny.

I set it back down without telling Ashen about it since we have apparently decided that we will not be bringing any throwing items along.

Things started feeling heavier, but I did not mind it since maybe I was just getting worn out. …But after a while, even floating requires immense strength.

I turned to Ashen, his steps slowing and seemingly more labored too. 

“Is it just me?” Ashen asked, panting.

“No. Something is wrong,” I confirmed. It feels like the air got one hundred times thicker.

We staggered forward. Ouch. We staggered forward. Ashen nearly tripped over a crooked stone, and I lurched downward just in time to catch him—not with grace, but out of raw instinct. My arms trembled; I could fall anytime now.

“It feels like my armor weighs a ton,” he muttered, shaking out his limbs.

“No kidding, detective. What is this…? ” I spoke through clenched teeth—if I even had that.

“Ah!” He fell down and brought me along. “Gravitational anomaly. It’s getting stronger here…”

His plume started flickering faster.

“Then let us turn back…!”

“But that thing…” He looked up stiffly. “More shards… We need those…”

“But? We are going to get crushed by the gravity at this point…!”

“Then hurry up! Finish it while we still can…!”

Ashen, beside me, had dropped to his knees now too, grunting every few feet as he shoved himself onward.

It looked utterly ridiculous. Same goes for me. My claws dug through the frost. Crawling… crawling felt undignified. Crawling as a Darkrai—without legs—felt absurd. I am scraping forward like a wounded beetle.

We reached the pair of Ground flux shards. He snatched it with a strained “Got it!” and stuffed it into his sack.

We turned around to escape the anomaly’s influence, but then—SLAM.

We both flinched. One of those huge floating snow pieces came falling down before us—presumably due to the effects of gravity here—burying the way we came in a heap of white.

“What…” Ashen began. “Okay, you know what, we can just go around this thing!”

But then the sounds of wind whirred behind us. I whipped around. A swirl of snow had begun to gather, dancing in a tight spiral… toward us?!

“Is that not a snowdrift?”

Ashen stared at it. “I think it’s—yeah, it’s moving.”

The spiral twisted its course slightly, almost like it had noticed and locked onto us.

Are we even able to outrun it?

Chapter Text

“Curse this place,” I muttered. My back is starting to hurt from the pressure.

The snow tornado kept shifting toward us—like it was watching. Hunting, even.

“It reacts to our movement. We can not afford to get more cracks in our shield…” I murmured.

“Génial,”“Great,” Ashen hissed as he went silent, thinking of something before jerking up ever so slightly.

“Your Warp Orb! Use it!”

“How?”

“Break it! Like—throw it into the ground or something! Punch it!”

“How…” My voice faltered. “Fine…!”

I used every ounce of strength I had to lift the now-burdensome orb and hurled it into the snow. But it did not crack; it cushioned the blow.

“Come on!”

“Then help me!”

I curled my fist and kept punching it down with my numb, trembling hands. Ashen joined in, and together, we struck again and again—until at last, the orb cracked. Then shatter.

A brilliant flash of energized cerulean light exploded outward. But I did not see too much of it; I shut my eyes, sound warping. And just like that, we were somewhere else—not in the valley anymore.

“Whew… Nice one, Cael! You got us out.” He kept on panting, flare dying down.

My lungs burned. My limbs felt like stone. My back still ached. It will not last for too long anymore, though. I exhaled out of relief.

“My bones hurt…” I muttered, at last. I was not sure if they were bones. “We did. You punched it with me. It probably would have not splintered otherwise.”

“…Yeah, well, neither of us are doing any of this alone. That’s kind of the point, right?”

“Not sure what you mean…” My head felt dizzy.

“Let’s catch our breaths first for a bit, then.” Ashen collapsed into a shaky crouch beside me, arms resting on his knees. His breath fogged up in uneven bursts.

I also extended my appendages and rested in the same pose as him. “Yeah… Also, is everything safe?”

He checked the inside of his sack almost cursorily. “Nope… Don’t think so. We’re good.”

“I did not expect it to break so easily. What if it did not…?” I asked, thoughts slowly creeping in.

“I know. Don’t think about that,” he replied, before continuing, “It is valid, though.”

“Are the gravitational oddities permanent here?”

“I don’t think so… it was fine just a minute ago. Probably a similar thing to that one ravine you saved me from.”

Ugh. That.

“No,” I said by the time I could stop myself.

“Huh?”

“Nothing…”

“Y’know, if it weren’t for the shields, we’d probably be crushed already.”

“I know. While we are at it, is it fine?”

“Seems like it…” He glanced around his own. “Just more scratches though.” He turned his head toward me, slightly dazed, but his smile was real this time. “We actually made it out. That… that could’ve gone so bad.”

“I know.”

Thereafter, neither of us spoke. The world did not either. It was quieter here—wherever the orb had sent us.

That was insane. Even though it was temporary, we still would not be able to bear waiting until it ended, especially under the time crunch.

I do think we still would have survived without the orb, but… we would not be able to accomplish our task. If it cracked wrong. If it delayed even a second longer. If Ashen had not remembered… I hate these thoughts. Still, they always find me. And now…

I want to think about all the ridiculous ways the orb could have failed us. We could have…

Somehow get our bodies fragmented. Somehow get teleported inside a wall or the ground. Somehow get separated. Somehow… have it not work entirely.

I am so tired of being almost too late… that I am not feeling as much relief as I wished for presently.

I looked down on the pristine snow. It is almost as if it gives the illusion of an untouched haven. Maybe here, it is. I should enjoy the safety for now, if I could even—without thinking about what may come.

But that was when I felt something warm on my side.

Ashen. He is still here. The one who smiles after everything. And now, the one who… sleeps after everything?

He was slumping against me, eyes closed low. His head just rested at the edge of my red collar. The plume atop his head was slower now, flickering in sleepy waves.

What is he doing?

I should stay away, but it was such a stark contrast to the frigid air surrounding us that I almost, almost , leaned into it.

…Why am I lying to myself? Tch.

Should I wake him up? We are in the middle of a Zone right now, and we are wasting valuable time. I could. Nudge him, whisper something…

But then again, a lack of sleep may halt our effectiveness here. But he is going to have nightmares from me anyway. Will he even restore any energy from this low-quality slumber?

He looked peaceful, but that will not last so long. His face is going to start contorting soon anyway. In one way or another, that made it worse. He trusted me enough to fall asleep like this, like I would keep him safe… Or maybe not. Maybe he fell asleep subconsciously out of overexhaustion.

I do not want to need him. Or trust him. Or lose him. So why does every near-death scenario make me more afraid of that than the actual dying part?

…Stupid emotions. I am clearly too tired.

So in the end, maybe I should have a rest too. I will let him have his catnap until… the next glow, I suppose. I am expecting it to be in around ten, fifteen, or even twenty minutes… I honestly have no idea.

It would be irresponsible to waste too much time, but… at this moment, I do not care. Let the world wait. We will not get many more moments thus.

Aside from that, would it not be delightful to see the look on his face when he has his nightmares…?

I want to sleep too and forget everything for a while but now I am forced here with only my thoughts, yet again.

Am I that warm for him to be able to fall asleep comfortably on me?

I tried feeling the temperature of my own arms, but nothing came out. They do say you can not feel your own heat anyway; that is probably the science behind the love for touch.

What would happen if we managed to restore the world…?

Unlike in my world, the skies here seem… untainted. I have always longed to see the Milky Way even once, so maybe, even if it is not the same, I would finally be able to see a galaxy. And I would stare at it for hours, sleep under it.

Does Ashen know about the constellations? Do they have different names here?

I have not realized how much I miss the night sky compared to the boring, overcast skies here. I suppose this is when that weight I mentioned would catch up to me… catches up to me. Albeit, to be fair, this is no ordinary occurrence—at least where I came from.

I wonder what was here before the influence of dungeons engulfed this region into a flux zone. Another town? Is that where the population of Gleisien Town came from?

…Came from. Come from.

I looked at Ashen again. He looked slightly discomforted now. Tsk tsk, it is his fault anyways for deciding to sleep around the god of nightmares.

I have just realized how much I do not know about him. Where did he come from? What was his hometown like? Have I even asked that before? How old is he? Does he have a last name?

…What is mine anyway? Do I have one? I think there was, but I can not remember. Thinking about it leaves a bad taste on my mind.

And… where did I come from too?

I am not… sure where on Earth. But the thought of it makes my chest tighten. All I can picture is somewhere too loud where people smile ‘happily’ when all of them look like exact replicas of each other… as if they were forced to do so.

Maybe I am better off not knowing.

Should I come up with a last name? Is that even important?

…No. I have not confirmed whether I have one or not. I— You can not just change your name that easily, right? I wish you could.

If I had chosen my name from the start, would I still be ‘Cael’? Do names impact how one acts? I do not disrelish it, but I am sure it would be different… Not that I am not sure what. 

I guess that is all about my… origins, for now.

I do remember that Ashen and I went on a long discussion about Pokémon mechanics. What else is there to think about?

There is still one thing I thought about way earlier that I have not asked Ashen about, but he is still asleep; I need to come up with something else.

Ah, critical hits. How do you exactly land one? Is it through a roll of fate’s invisible dice, or is it precise anatomical targeting? How does one know they have dealt one? Everything about it is quite… arbitrary.

I vaguely recall something about ‘pressure points’ which are basically the weak spots of the body, the part producing the most pain when struck. Martial arts uses that term. Fighting-types exist here, so I imagine the logic carries over.

But that explanation is still… lacking. Pokémon vary wildly in anatomy, yet they all can receive critical hits—even without discernible organs, like Reuniclus. 

If every species had unique pressure points, fine. That would at least explain why they aren’t guaranteed; you cannot remember all of them. However, by that logic, would you not be able to always land a critical hit on a species you have encountered?

That implies something else more… abstract, and universal. The only thing that comes to mind right now is… luck. That explanation, whilst annoyingly convenient, holds up better. Some abilities somehow increase your critical hit ratio—suitably named ‘Super Luck’, if I remember right.

Yet, that opens more questions: what determines this probability? Is it all truly random or is there some way to manipulate it?

Evidently, something affects it. Some moves strike critically more often or less—and held items such as the Razor Claw and Scope Lens existing. But that still does not explain how they alter the probabilities.

As confusing and baseless as the luck theory is, I prefer this one more anyway. Something about the pressure points feel so… personal. Surgical. Exploitative. Even as a Dark-type—known for exactly that, supposedly born for manipulation and subversion, as well as probably being the embodiment of it, it just… disturbs me.

Ugh. Pathological biology hurts to think about; I should stop… before I land a critical hit on my brain. Ha ha.

Our shields flickered. It is time to put him out of his slumber.

“_{Wake up,}” I whispered in the most ominous voice I could. Unsurprisingly easy as a Darkrai.

He jerked up, plume bristling briefly and shouted, “Wha—?!” He clutched his chestplate. “Oh my Arceus, you scared me… You sounded just like the… I-don't-know-what-it's-called.” His eyelids fell again. “Say sorry.”

Maybe I should always do that henceforth, seeing how well it worked.

“No. It is your turn to count.”

He whimpered. “Mmm… what? Why not?”

“I have just told you. It was obligatory.”

“Fine…” He blinked slowly, twice, before finally opening his eyes. “What number?”

“Guess it.”

“No idea…”

“It is just whatever number it was last time, plus one.”

“What? You’re hitting me with maths already first thing I wake up…? No thanks.”

I facepalmed. Fine. I will just keep track of it for myself. Fourteen, seven hours in.

He exhaled a sleepy half-laugh, rubbing his eyes with the back of his glove-like hand. “By the way, that was the creepiest ‘good morning’ I’ve ever heard… You’re a bad alarm.”

“It was not a ‘good morning’. Just the glow.”

‘Well, it felt like it…!”

“Sure. Get moving,” I said curtly, even though part of me felt… warmer.

He yawned shamelessly. “Ten minutes already? Felt like two…” he muttered. “Was I snoring?”

“No. You were drooling.”

“What?!” He sat up straight, finally off me, immediately wiping at the side of his mouth. “No way. You’re lying.”

“I am. But you deserve the paranoia.” I almost chuckled.

“Okay, that was pretty good. I'll give you that.” He stretched his arms. “Alright, alright, we’re going now!” He stood up and walked straight ahead again without even knowing if we were going in the same direction as we did before; we did just teleport to a random location, after all.

I tagged along. “How did you even fall asleep in the middle of this?”

He glanced at me, one eye still half-lidded, with a wry smile. “Heh, dunno. I guess… I felt safe enough?”

My stride faltered for a split second.

“That is what I thought.”

“Anyways…” He paused after that, glancing at me sideways. “Thanks for letting me rest. You didn’t have to.”

“I did anyway.”

“…Heh. You’re a softie deep down.”

“When you fall asleep like that again, I will strand you here.”

“Okay, okay, sorry!” He raised a hand and rocked his forearm back and forth repeatedly.

“Have you gotten habituated to the nightmares? Did that cross your mind before you decided to fall asleep right next to the god of nightmares?”

No signs of poor sleep were visible on him. His eyes were not glazed, his plume was not wilting, and his posture was not tense. Probably because it was just a momentary natural nap. I believe there is a distinction for how my abilities affect artificial and voluntary slumbers.

His hand paused mid-scratch for a split second; it would be very easy to miss.

“Hah… honestly?” He continued scratching at the side of his face, not quite meeting my gaze. “I thought about it. But I was too tired to care. I need to adapt to it anyways.”

“I thought that would have been enough to stop you from being such a sleepyhead. Not complaining though…”

“What do you mean?”

I shrugged, eyes closed. “You should have seen the look on your face.”

He tilted his head, completely oblivious. I did not explain anything.

“Okay, anyways. I think I'll never fully resist your nightmares but… I'm just gonna try to ignore it. Heh…” His pupils widened and he glanced off to the side, hands behind his neck.

“Good luck with that.” I paused. “Or not.”

“Hmph! Then thank you. Or not.”

“You are welcome. Or not.”

We stared at each other for a bit too long. What in the world just happened? What did we just say to each other? That was probably the stupidest exchange we have ever had.

And yet… I am not scowling.

What is wrong with me?

(Indeed. What is wrong with you? What did you mean by that?)

I wanted him to be able to endure my nightmares, so he would not break. Of course.

(But why the last part?)

I just wanted something to… measure. His flinches. The fear in his expression. The way he tenses up during sleep. The way his breath shortens, catches.

(Sounds like you enjoyed it.)

…No. Wrong.

Where are these thoughts coming from? Ugh…

“What is this…?” Ashen drawled.

We arrived at another bottomless gorge. But unlike the one from before—the one I caught him from—this one seemed… stable. This one probably pre-existed.

“The more important question is, how are we going to pass this?”

Ashen leaned forward, peering into the void. “You could try to carry me across… again? Heheh.”

“As if, genius. Let us try to find a way around this chasm.”

“Boooo. You’re no fun.”

“Correct.”

We started to trace the edge of the ravine. I tried paying full attention to anywhere that could indicate its end—so I had no chance to space out and contemplate on the meaning of life. However… I saw nothing. No change in terrain. No narrowing of the gorge. No signs of a crossing. 

Our shields glowed.

“Fifteen.” Seven hours and a half has passed since we got here.

“Oh, fourteen!” he exclaimed in excitement. “Is that what that secret number you told me to guess earlier is?”

“It is no secret, but indeed, it is.”

He leaned in closer, eyes widening. “Wait. WAIT. Did I actually guess it?”

“Yes, you did.”

He gasped. “Oh my gosh. Hold on. This means… I have a brain cell. I HAVE A BRAIN CELL!!”

“Wow… How surprising. Sure.”

I did not expect for his deduction skills to be this sharp—although, to be fair, this is simple arithmetics. I never thought he had zero brain cells anyway, but okay.

Ashen's pace slowed. “Anyways, this is… starting to feel ridiculous.”

“It is.”

“Could we be walking in circles or is this thing affected by that distance stretching anomaly again? Or worse, the canyon is walking with us.” He gave it a suspicious side-eye. “Feels like something this zone would do…”

“That is even more ridiculous. But no, I have not observed any of that around here.”

“Well yeah, then this thing is ridiculously long.” He sighed.

“Wait—there. What is that?”

“A… bridge? A bridge!” he exclaimed.

“A bridge? That is barely a bridge; more like… a lip of rock.”

We finally found a natural span connecting the two sides of the chasm, although lamentably, it is treacherously narrow.  Just across it—standing precariously close to the edge—was another berry tree. This one looked… surprisingly normal—more so than any I had encountered so far; this time, it actually resembled a tree instead of looking like some sort of mushroom.

Its trunk was formed from two cords of bark spiraling together like the twist of a bonsai tree. Near its center, a pair of goldenrod leaves sprouted opposite one another, curved into imperfect circles, missing a sector, like lotus pads—or less technically, a Pac-Man. The canopy above was modest, clustered with ultramarine-colored berries, with hints of taupe.

“Time to get crossing then…!” His eyes flicked to the endless depths beneath, stride faltering slightly. He was worried, understandably; he did not have the ability to levitate.

We do. For the berries… and because this is the only way forward.

“Brace yourself.”

I floated ahead, gliding low over the gorge as he began to walk the narrow path. It was hardly more than a line of stone—one careless footstep is enough to be fatal. It went well… at first.

But when we reached the midpoint—where the path thinned into almost nothing—he slowed.

“Did you hear it…?” he asked.

“Did you hear that…?” he asked quietly.

I strained to listen. Something was—cracking.

My eyes darted down. The fissures were initially tiny, though it kept on spreading.

“It’s breaking,” I whispered. “Keep going.”

He took step after step. More cracks, and then…

The ground beneath his foot fractured like brittle glass. His leg sank halfway through with a yelp.

“Go!” I shouted. “RUN! Do not stop!”

“But—!”

“What are you doing?! Run, moron!”

Even if I had to use… such terms, at least that got him moving.

He sprinted now with the path actively crumbling behind him. Every stone hit with his step barely had time to exist before it splintered and dropped into the darkness.

His breath became ragged, and I floated just ahead—occasionally turning around—keeping pace. Ready.

A few more steps. The edge was in sight.

Three, two—

Crack.

…One.

He slipped, now hardly holding on to the ledge with one hand. “Ah—!”

“Hang on!” I dashed back and held him from behind to lift him, like before—with a strenuous groan. He is still so heavy.

I could not drop him on the ground so… elegantly. He fell chest-first before rolling around and sitting back up.

I would have laughed if I were not so annoyed.

He stared at me, wide-eyed. “You—again?!”

“Stop falling. This is the second time,” I emphasized.

Ashen wheezed out a laugh. “You’re really good at catching me, huh? Maybe I just like the attention!”

“I will let you drop next time.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Sure.”

He grinned up at me, brushing off his armor and giving my wrist a quick, casual squeeze. “I knew having someone flying would be useful in dire situations like these!”

I scowled. “Get your hands off me. Do not call me ‘useful’ ever again.”

“Eeesh, sharp! I was going to anyways. Hmph.”

“Have you never encountered these before?”

“Well… the other flux zones I’ve visited weren’t in mountains like these, so no stupid ravines.” he looked up, raised a hand and started flicking his wrist around.

“I see. Also, that.” I turned toward the berry tree I had just described.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot! Ganlon Berries! Yeah, we need those. Let’s go!” He already started rushing toward it.

Arriving, he packed one of them into his bundle and showed one to me. “You want some?”

“I guess. A little taste test will not hurt.” I grabbed it from his hand.

The shape was bizarre, to say the least. It resembled a… stubby, striped cylinder, colored in alternating bands of taupe and olive green, with wavy blue circumferential ridges lining the berry’s middle and base. On its top, five plump blue lumps clustered in a circle, almost like flower petals.

How is anyone going to tell me this is based on a longan fruit in my world?

I bit into it. The sweetness hit me first—barely, until…

It gave up instantly and was replaced by a strong bitterness. I retched. What is this? Eugh! Nothing compares to this.

It was smooth, dry, and somehow worse for it, like… biting into a dark chocolate stone coated with ground medicinal tablets that had been left in that same medicine cabinet for a decade.

Ashen was snickering behind me not-so-unostentatiously.

“Was this part of your plan all along?” I snapped to him, glaring.

He continued.

I harrumphed, but did not say anything.

“You fell for it!”

I wiped where my mouth would be with the back of my arm. “Tch. Stop that. You are retarding things.”

“GASP! Cael, you can not use that word! Where are your manners?” He covered where his mouth would be—again—in mock surprise.

“I am way more well-mannered than you. I am not going to repeat things,” I muttered, floating past him.

“Oooh, I broke the scary Darkrai,” he teased, still snickering as he popped another berry from the tree into his mouth before throwing it into the ground. “Oof—yep, that bitterness hits different. Bleh. Coming!”

I did not respond. I did not want to. My mouth still tasted like regret.

We walked on in silence after that. Well—he walked; I floated. The ravine faded behind us, but the bitterness lingered, both literally and figuratively.

I have a lot of things to think about now. More exactly, three. I should start with the earliest one before I forget.

Something about the word ‘useful’ rubs the wrong way on me. That was the word he used, out of everything else—not strong. Not brave. Not reliable. Not trusty. Just… helpful.

What is wrong with that word anyway?

I, for one, think that it implies you are no more than… a tool. It dehumanizes you—or should I say de-Pokémon-izes you?

That was bad, but anyway, I… want to be seen as more than that. As a person, not just a device you throw away when it has been used.

I know he meant it as a compliment, but still… Why? I do not care to be useful. I care to be real. I refuse to be reduced to anyone’s convenience, not even his.

I hope he apologizes soon. If he even means it…

Next, that… thing. With the Ganlon Berry.

It was harmless, teasing, not worth remembering, yet… memorable. Displeasingly so.

He gave me something, and I trusted him, biting in without question. Worse, without hesitation, and for what? Because he smiled? Because that made me think it was safe?

This disturbingly reminds me of the story with Adam, Eve, and the snake. Except that… only I got hurt; well, in the end, he did, but it was negligible.

He trusts me when I catch him.

He jokes with me when I fall for a trick.

But what does he actually see me as then?

A partner? Or a Darkrai that happens to be helpful when gravity barks and gets aggressive?

…No.

I shook my head.

Now, on a more interesting note, apparently ‘retard’ is also offensive in this universe.

I am fairly certain he understood I used it in its original sense: to describe delay. I am sure he was just joking about it. I do not mind, but… duly noted.

Now I know that, to all intents and purposes, pejoratives also exist here like on my Earth.

In hindsight, it is not shocking at all—every society must have one. Language evolves—or more accurately, devolves—by breaking itself. Words fracture, rot, collapse into guttural sounds meant to harm. Mark my words, back where I came from, even ‘delay’ will be a slur someday. It is only a matter of time.

Humans are beyond me. Even though I am— was —one.

Besides, the word means something that can be universally applied: idiocy. It was not related to excreta or sexual acts, which are usually the primary targets of offensive terms.

Color me astonished if I ever discover that ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ also exist here as vulgarities. While I would not put it past this place, where would such words originate, linguistically? If my assumptions are correct about their excretory and reproductive systems—

Ah… yes. That train of thought. I never finished it last time, did I? Now I am.

Pokémon do not appear to excrete anything. Except, perhaps, air, if that even is respiration. Or… if they do, I have been extraordinarily lucky so far.

I am no biology expert, and I have no idea what is happening in these cells at all—if Pokémon are even made up of cells—but perhaps their bodies are so efficient, so magically refined, that nothing is wasted and left over. Not even… waste , nor leftovers . The idea is truly admirable. (That was so clever, was that not?)

As for reproduction…

Breeding does exist; this I know. But there seems to be no intercourse, nor external sexual organs. Just Pokémon eggs. But then again, where do those come from?

Perhaps they are formed through magic—or energy transmutation, or something like that; a ritual act devoid of the grotesque, anatomical chaos.

Which, frankly, certainly sounds far less disgusting than what I grew up with. Nonetheless, I would not be surprised if the act was called ‘fucking’ anyway, and somehow considered taboo despite being cleaner in every measurable way.

I still stand by my choice of words. Would it even be possible to ameliorate it?

I turned to Ashen, still looking everywhere else but me. Has he thought about any of this?

…Definitely not. Probably.

I could ask him about this just to see his reaction and answer that question, but I am not in the mood for such unbecoming things.

He suddenly snapped to me, either because he finally noticed me staring at him for a bit too long, or because our shields lit up again.

“Oh, it’s been sixteen glows already. Welcome to the eight hour mark, Cael,” he said, with less enthusiasm than what I would consider normal.

“Welcome to you too, I suppose.”

“Hey, um… sorry for earlier.”

I tilted my head. “Earlier?”

“You know. That whole thing. Me calling you… useful.”

“Accepted.”

He shot me a sideways glance. “So… you don’t want to be called smart or useful. Kinda picky, aren’t you?”

“I am not.”

“You kinda are.”

“Not ”

Ashen huffed. “Anyways… are there any other words you dislike being called?”

“Not that I currently remember.”

“What?” he drawled.

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I am certain there are, but I do not know until someone mentions it.”

Ashen squinted his sloped-down eyes. “You just forget your own preferences?”

I hummed. “I know what I feel when prompted; otherwise, it just does not… come to me.”

“Weird…”

“I never wanted this, nor can I explain it… It is just how I have been since the start.”

“That must be frustrating. I’m sorry for you, mate…”

I sighed, resigned. “It is fine—just the way things are.”

“So… what don’t you mind being called?”

“…Cael.”

“Fair enough… heh.”

About what I said to him, it is unfortunately true. Unless someone reminds me—speaks them aloud—they stay buried. It is not just about what I detest, but also what I like. And more often than not… I forget how to even begin remembering.

It happens with simple words, concepts, and most importantly… boundaries. I have no self-knowledge until someone steps on and triggers it.

An ache that I cannot name resides in me. I can only recognize and feel it in hindsight—once it is too late.

I think it is called lethologica, though this time, it is on a deeper level.

This will become a problem soon. I know it—especially when I introduce myself. When I try to exist… without being misread. Misunderstood.

How can I set boundaries if I do not know them until they are crossed? What will happen after?

I dread something, but I do not even remember what.

Wherefore am I like this?

I never asked for this. Nobody else seems to have this… Although my memory concerning people is insufficient. Still, Ashen, for one, does not. Why do things like these always occur to me only…? Can I fix it? Myself?

Maybe, maybe not. Ashen might know, but I am not feeling like asking him.

One more of those floating islands fell down with a distant thud. So far, they seem harmless. What even are the chances of getting caught under one?

“Are you bored?” Ashen started.

“As always.”

“Honestly, me too. Kinda running out of things to do in my head…” He stretched his arms up with a soft grunt. “Wanna answer some more questions?”

“Are you sure you will not… go too deep?”

“Nope. We’ll be treading the shallow waters this time, promise!”

“Fine. Go on.”

“Okay, I’ll be super careful this time. What’s your favorite weather?”

“What kinds of weather are there?”

He blinked slowly, a smirk forming on his face. “Wait. Waitwaitwait—what do you mean what kinds?” He leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Cael. Are you telling me you forgot how weather works?”

I rolled my eyes. “I did not. I just wanted to make sure they were the same as my Earth.”

“Suuure you did,” he sang. “Next you’ll be asking if the sky is only gray here and, like, pink— somewhere else… Which—of course, it’s not.”

“It is a valid question.”

“Ahh, Cael, you’re so silly! But alright, if you insist.” He cleared his throat and held up a finger like a lecturer. “There’s sunny, for starters. Bright, hot, makes you squint a lot. Then we’ve got rainy, classic gloomy vibes. You know, for dramatic monologues,” he listed in a nasal voice.

“Can you—”

“Erm, actually, no! ” Another finger. “Then there’s hail! Which we experienced a few hours ago. Then snow , which we surprisingly haven’t experienced yet. ”

“I get it.”

“But I’m not done!”

“Then hurry up.”

“Okay, so you want me to hurry, huh? Alright.” He took a deep breath, then spluttered, “Sandstorms, windy, foggy, cloudy, partly cloudy, stormy, drizzle, hurricanes, sleet, then finally some special ones—heavy rain, and harsh sunlight.” He exhaled. “Is that enough?”

“…Yes.”

“Okay, good! Now answer my question.”

“Just… anything where the sun is blocked. Dim, grey, covered in clouds…”

“Oho, so you’re a gloomy weather guy, huh?” Ashen grinned, but it softened quickly. “I can guess why already! That’s fitting. Really.” His smile faltered as he looked up, eyes squinting at the heavy overcast above. “But…”

“But what?”

“Doesn’t this get boring eventually? It always looks the same…”

“Instances of the same type of weather would look the same.” I folded my arms.

“Cael!”

“Fine.” I cleared my throat. “Well… I guess so. I do also miss the starry, clear night skies.”

He exhaled a breathy laugh of relief. “Ahh… You got me worried for a sec there, heheh…! Don’t worry, once we restore everything, you’ll be able to see those again.”

“But… the night is not eternal.”

“I know. You must be wishing for a move that changes the time to night like how Sunny Day changes it to… sunny, but I mean, if you’re nocturnal…” He shrugged. “You won’t need to see the sun ever again; ‘cause you’ll be asleep during the daytime.”

“I was a diurnal human,” I reminded. 

“Well, you’re a Dark-type—in fact, the, the Dark-type. so I’m pretty sure you’ll adapt easily!”

I looked away to think for a bit. “There is another problem with that. I would not have anyone to stargaze with—if my assumption about you being diurnal is correct.”

“Well, yeah. I am. Though! Who said I can’t be nocturnal too? Or at least, try? Just for you! ”

“Just… for me?”

Ashen took longer to respond—he must not have had a snappy reply ready.

“Yeah…” He tilted his head. “If I don’t, then how would we spend time together? We’d be sleeping when the other is awake. That’d suck.”

I looked back up at the sky. Still gray. Still featureless.

“Really?” I asked, speechless.

“Why not? Don’t you think it’d be nice? To walk at night, talk under the stars, no one else around—yeah, I think I’d like that. I mean… if it’s with you.”

I did not know what to say. I think I nearly smiled.

“Y’know, for a simple question, I’m almost impressed how you turn it into this long discussion every time.”

“I think you are the one to blame for that.”

“Fair enough.”

“Wait, stop—”

Ashen stepped onto a patch of snow that was distinctly bluer than the rest.

And just like that, another frost bloom activated. The ground split outward, jagged ice spikes spiraling up around us like a crown, just like usual.

“This again?” I sighed. “I feel like the only purpose these serve is to irk us. These are so easy to get out of, yet so… persistent.”

“True that. Anyways—”

A shadow passed over us. I looked up as I said, “Why did it suddenly get darker…?”

Another flying iceberg. Falling fast. We could not avoid it in the small confines of this trap. Shattering upon impact with our shields, fragments exploded around us, lodging into every inch of empty space between our bodies and the shield.

The flux shield did not let the splinters inside, oddly enough; so far, everything else has been able to get inside it, ground included. They floated just outside it, suspended unnaturally, forming a jagged outer shell around us.

It is hard to describe, but in simple terms, it looks like when you try to insert a metal ball into a pile of ice cubes—it all just stacked up around us, not in.

I could see Ashen’s face through the barrier wall of ice-chunks—squished, annoyed. The cracks in our shield from before grew bigger.

“I hate this,” I uttered curtly. “Can you move around in that pile?”

This place just got way more cramped.

Ashen wriggled a bit, then grinned. “Yeah. Nothing's gonna stop me from turning up the heat!”

He stretched his arm, mimicking the act of cracking knuckles—it did not make any sound, presumably since he did not have them. “Alright, ice boys,” he said with a sharp breath. “Time to give you a warm bye-bye!”

With a clank of his pauldrons joining together, he confidently unleashed Fire Spin. The fire erupted in a clean, wild spiral, melting the jagged prison from inside out; it shrieked, cracked, and gave way instantaneously.

“Haha, yeah—I live for this part. Would’ve torched the whole thing if we had the time… Tsk.” He hopped through the gap. “Let's go!”

“You are developing catchphrases now. Wonderful.”

“What can I say? I've been itching to roast these puny walls.”

“…Sure.”

A pause.

“You did not seem so excited the second time we got stuck in this; why?”

“I was probably just more tired and focused on the mission that time to have enough mental power for such flaming remarks like this!”

“I find that hardly believable.”

“Nah, it's true. But it's also because of you.

“…Me?”

He chuckled, a little breathy. “Yeah. You actually talked to me. Even if it was just about weather, it really got my brain spinning . Guess it also got me a little fired up,”—he put a hand on his hips and closed his eyes smugly—“both puns all intended! I really liked it, y’know! Felt like we were syncing, or connecting, or something.”

“Likewise, I guess.”

Now I see that small talk with some sarcasm is what it takes to get him excited.

“So yeah. Turns out, talking to you does light a fire in me.”

I stared at him, confused.

“Wait— nonono, I didn’t mean it like that—wait did I? Maybe I did, maybe I did not— Stop looking at me like that…!” He walked faster now. “Let’s just focus on the view ahead and see what we can find, ahaha…!”

“…Sure.” I did not know what else to say.

Another glow.

“Wait—seventeen,” I announced before ending the conversation. Eight hours and thirty minutes in.

“Ah, see? Even the shields are also urging us to hurry up! Go go go!”

That line was strange. It has remained in my mind for longer than it should. It could be interpreted in—according to my calculations—at least three ways.

It was clearly an impulsive remark possibly meant as a joke, or not. I am not well-versed in interpreting tones like someone such as Ashen, but even he was not sure. He was certainly flustered, though.

Perhaps it was an idiom, an attempt at flirtation, neither, or possibly both. I have seen people getting flustered at these kinds of comments despite not reciprocating the implied feelings, so I can not tell what he truly felt there, as obvious as it may seem. However, I do not disfavor it either.

Maybe this is what he meant when he said he enjoyed speaking with me. About the weather, the stars, all in the same way he said he would try becoming nocturnal ‘just for me’. Maybe this is why he starts smiling whenever he interacts with me like I handed him some prettily-wrapped gift. This felt parallel to it.

Now I can see the dedication in his words. But that is still if we manage to accomplish this grand mission.

Maybe I can just try imagining it for now.

…

I found myself atop a hill. A dense forest filled with near-silhouettes of coniferous trees surrounds it. Stillness filled the air, save for the occasional rustling leaves caused by the wind.

Everything was dark. Extremely so. The kind that makes you feel like you are floating in space. But, my night vision did help.

The sky above was vast, deep blue in color, scattered with twinkling dots everywhere—stars. Some were brighter, some were dimmer, but all of them were a sight to behold. The constellations were not quite what I remember, but it does not matter…

More rustling. This time, it was louder.

Someone came out from behind the trees. It was… Ashen. The wisps from his eyes and the plume atop his head lit up the vicinity. I hope it is not going to be a source of light pollution.

Oh, he is here now… Time to put my characterization skills to the test, then.

“Hey! Here again… as expected.” He looked around, hands on his hips. “Nice place you’ve got here… We could really use a campfire. And maybe some chairs.”

Time to add that, then.

“Consider it done.” I manifested two deckchairs.

“Whoa—nice! Though I mean, technically, it’s all in your head, including me, so… yeah. But still cool! Anyways, what about that campfire?”

“I decided that it would interfere with our stargazing.”

“Fair.” He dropped into the nearest chair, arms resting idly behind his head. “When are you gonna join me?”

“ Of course now. When else?”

I took the seat beside him. The lower half of my cloak-like body folded oddly to the chair’s curves—especially since this is less flat than the ground I usually sit on. Curious.

Now I can look overhead comfortably without tiring my ‘neck’. My eyes wandered on the stars—shimmering just a little brighter—pulsing slowly as if they were breathing. In a sense, they do, since stars eventually ‘die’.

I am deciding that the azimuth is there, on the side of the hill with the steepest slope.

My eyes were jittering at the sight of it. I wonder what about it makes it look so awe-inducing and mesmerizing. There was something sacred about the moment, I think. Perhaps it was just the scale of it—the sheer cosmic intensity, and how we were looking into the past right now, or the way the heavens bent slightly inward, like a dome made just for us.

“So beautiful, isn’t it? Which one's your favorite?” Ashen asked softly, not wanting to disrupt the moment.

Can you even point with three fingers—or in this case, claws?

I directed a palm toward a lone blue star gleaming between the zenith and horizon—closer to the former. Approximately 60° altitude, and… 70° azimuth, nestled betwixt a white and pale yellow star among the many dimmer stars surrounding it. “That one. See it?”

“Uhh… maybe? There’s, like, a thousand of them up there, dude.” He laughed. “I’m guessing it’s that bright blue one? You did say that’s your favorite color.”

“Correct.”

“Y’know… what if we become stars someday? Like, after we die. Not sure if Mythicals count, though. You might skip the line. Either way, we'll be a pair of space flames, or something. Cosmic pals, yeah? You'll be blue, and I'll be a red one.” He spun an arm up in the air while moving it across the sky. It reminded me of how binary systems orbit each other.

“Are you trying to describe a binary star system? Also, just so you know, blue stars are hotter and live shorter lives than red dwarfs.”

“Wait, really?” He turned to me, before looking above again. “I wonder why it works like that, man… I may be filled with more flames and die younger than you, but aesthetically, it still fits, right? Heh.”

“If you want to be more precise though, our roles would reverse. Even if blue does fit me more, what matters is the inside.”

“Aw, that's such a you quote! But hey, I get it.” He smirked. “Maybe blue wouldn't be so bad on me!”

“Indeed. My collar is already red so there are no questions for me… Hm.”

We sat in silence for a while, watching the glittering cosmos. Is it about time I name constellations?

I wonder how ancient astrographers decided what these patterns resembled—and which stars deserved to be part of the ‘picture.’ Perhaps it was based on brightness. Or position, or… nothing entirely.

Let us begin here—directly in line with the azimuth, roughly 45° altitude. There was nothing special about this, but something told me it would be a good starting point.

There is one star at the top left, with a second, fainter one to the right of it, slightly higher in altitude. They mirror downward, two more faint stars forming a slanted trapezoid. Even then, it was irregular, not exactly symmetrical.

This feels incomplete. Just four stars?

I searched to the left… None. And then on the right, the upper region—there, a bright star gleams, out of line with the others.

We just have a triangle attached to a trapezoid. This does not resemble anything.

Tracing the diagonal, imaginary line connecting the base of the trapezoid to that brightest star on the top right, there was something slightly below it, nearly on the midway point—something slightly blurry and blue: a cluster of stardust between dimmer stars. Oh—that is a nebula, clouding the space like a… hidden keyhole.

Right! It is clicking.

I could make it a padlock, but we are missing the final, bottom right star to complete the body. But there is nothing scintillating there…

Fine. We will choose the brightest of the dim ones nearby. That one. Let it embody a chipped corner.

I have not decided if this padlock is closed or opened. It is up to interpretation, but considering the askew shape of the shank, I would say it is unlocked.

Now, what should I name this?

From what I recall, constellations are traditionally named in Latin. The ones shaped like objects tend to end in ‘-um’—Telescopium, and Microscopium. But I do not know the Latin word for seal or lock; I never studied the language.

Neither ‘sealum’ nor ‘lockum’ would sound natural anyway. I need a synonym with Latin etymology. Hmm… Sigil could work. Sigillum.

I reached out and traced the shape of the constellation I just made slowly and deliberately, a final time, in the air—

(“Cael, look there!”)

“What?”

The way he said it did not match his expression, 

(“Not again… You’re always like this, hah…”)

“I am facing you already.”

He is not responding. Something is wrong…

(“Are you ready? Pretty sure you’re not, but I don’t care! He he!”)

“What do you mean…?”

The stars above began to fade out and the sky rippled.

“CAEL!” Ashen screamed in my nonexistent ears. Ah—!

The daydream cracked.

I jolted, nearly flinching. “What?!”

“THERE.” He pointed.

Now, it is a red berry tree, reminiscent of the Pomeg Berry plant—yes, but unlike that one, this actually looked like a tree; more so than the Ganlon Berry one, in fact. It was unmistakably coniferous, with a burnt umber-colored trunk and crimson leaves.

“Right, right. I will be just behind you,” I stated.

So, we have an entirely red pine—in an Ice Flux Zone—on a snow-blanketed plateau… The contrast could not be more absurd. Who decided that these— these… ridiculously conspicuous flora should grow exclusively in a pure, white canvas?

Why? Is it for irony? Is it a taunt…? What? I am utterly confused and disbelieved; I am sure I would have come up with better design choices!

…Or maybe not; I do not know. Maybe there is a hidden reason beneath this. But still…!

Well—at the very least—it is easier to describe than every previous berry tree we have encountered. I will take that small leniency.

“What is this?” I asked as we reached the tree.

“Aspear Berries! We’re so close to finishing everything! And we still have, like, three hours and thirty minutes to spare!”

Our shields glowed for the eighteenth time.

“Oh, uh, I mean exactly three hours. But still!”

Twelve minus three is nine.

Ashen plucked a berry from the tree, casually flipping it in his palm before sliding it into his bindle. Then he grabbed another and extended it toward me. “You wanna try this too?”

“Go ahead and try it first.”

“Me? Why?”

“Yes. I have learned.”

His eye twitched slightly. “Aww, come on, I was just having fun last time. This one's actually not bad, I swear.”

“Then it should not be a problem, right?”

“…You caught me.” Even though he did not have a nose, his sniffing was audible. Then, he bit down.

His face contorted slightly—just enough to register—but he was trying so hard to pretend it was not… sour, I believe.

“MmmmMm…!” He pretended to smile, forcing the usual, jolly slivers. “See? This is so… good! It’s totally fine, I swear…!”

“You are so convincing. Bravo.”

Ashen squirmed for a good five seconds as he tried to compose himself under the flavors, gulping down the mouthful he was chewing on. “Ugh… No use anymore, huh?” He let out a nervous chuckle.

I did not break eye contact. “What did it taste like?”

He buzzed. “How do I put it? Okay, so, it’s like silky lemon pudding, except you take out all the sugar. That’s it. Nothing else.”

“Sounds… interesting. Thank you for your service, test dummy. ” I reached for one.

He looked at me, flabbergasted. “What does this mean…? You made me go through all of that just to eat it anyway?!” He threw both hands onto his head, stunned, and gasped. “Unbelievable! That nuked my taste buds! I nearly lost all feeling in my tongue just for you, nearly died, and you’re just gonna stand there like nothing happened?!”

I shrugged with my hands. “Yes. I needed some… data to base my expectations on.”

He clutched his chest with one hand, the other raised and trembling, as if reeling from a mortal wound. “Oh, my dignity! I trusted you, Cael! This is betrayal! Treason! Backstabbing in its rawest form! …And whatever other synonyms exist for that!”

“Lèse-majesté, treachery, there. Anyways, no; that was not backstabbing—it was all frontal. You volunteered, and I just… refrained from preventing you.”

“Frontal? That’s worse! You wanted to see me suffer through all of it, huh? This is psychological warfare, Cael. Do you hear yourself?! I am emotionally burnt, augh!”

He pointed an accusatory finger with the flat part of his ‘mittens’. My heart skipped a beat; it reminded me of something… displeasing. He said it lightheartedly, but… I froze. My gaze locked on his outstretched hand. Something about it felt wrong.

He did not notice, still half-laughing. “You? You owe me big-time. I want a formal apology. Maybe get it signed, laminated, and maybe even framed if you have the money—uh…?” He trailed off.

“Yo, Cael?”

I blinked. It cracked the spell, but only a little…

He dropped his hand. “Hey, hey. I was just playing around, okay? I didn’t mean to… whatever it did.”

“Sigh. I know.” I turned away. I did, but still… “Just… do not point at me, ever.”

“Sorry. That was too much, huh…? I swear, I’ll never do it again.”

“It is… not entirely your fault. You did not know. It was just… that gesture. It reminded me of something, but I am unsure what.”

“I see…” He looked off to the side, pupils dragging upward. “Isn’t it annoying how things still matter even when we don’t remember them, sometimes?” Then, he glanced back at me. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out soon. Also, sorry for keeping you from eating that. I’ll wait!”

“…No. Come on; I can eat while walking.”

“Oh? Okay… You’re still in a rush?”

“The more time we have to spare, the better, right?”

“Right.”

We moved onwards. That was just one more example of how this cursed inability to recall my own limits—how my mind hides things I ought to know. will, always, eventually catch up to me; I did not even realize this was a boundary until it had already been crossed.

It is not Ashen’s fault. It never was, but that does not stop my body from reacting as if he is someone else. Someone I do not remember… but clearly did not forget, either.

How many more of those are there, still buried? How many more moments like this will it take to remember them all?

(What’s the use? It will be too late by then, anyway.)

True.

And if that is the case, how can I ever truly bond with anyone?

Every step forward will be reset the moment I flinch, shut down, and impose another spur-of-the-moment limit—just because I got ‘uncomfortable’ . Ashen might be patient now, but my luck will run out before long, will it not?

And even if he says it is fine… what if it still hurt him, one way or another?

My hand shifted slightly. Why does it feel full?

That was when I felt something pressing against my fingers. Something… physical, firm, real.

My thoughts were anchored back to reality.

I looked down. The Aspear Berry was still in my hand. How long had I been holding it?

It was a yellow, plump, slightly ovate fruit, with a camel-brown stem curving from the top and green rings peppered across its skin. Well, just like its tree—this one is very easy to describe. In other words, a pear. How fitting.

Too bad I nearly forgot it existed. It felt wrong to have carried it this long without… doing anything with it. It should have been rotten just from the weight of my inaction, but it had not.

I hate the feeling… The realization of how much time you have wasted. I cannot afford it. If I ever stop, even fleetingly, it feels like the world has moved on—without me.

But, no. I will not toss it away. Realistically, this is not spoilt at all—just… forgotten. And here, where food might be rare, that feels like a crime—although it feels like one regardless. Additionally, it is better to consume it now than watch it rot in my own grasp.

I munched on it. It really tasted just like Ashen described—silky smooth with pure acidity.

I squeezed my other eye, covered by my fringe, shut, to compensate. From the outside, though, I probably look unstirred; one of the subtle benefits of only having one eye exposed: the illusion of emotional stability… Unless someone scrutinized the wrinkles—but that is if they even do exist.

I noticed him watching me chew with something between amusement and concern. “So… you’re not affected at all by the sourness?” he asked casually. “You look… really fine.”

“Is it really that invisible?”

He leaned in slightly. “Well, I could figure it out maybe if I had a magnifying glass, or if I stared long enough.”

“Is this not long enough for you?”

“Uh… I was curious, okay? You’ve got the world’s best poker face and it really, really makes me want to see how far you can go.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Of course!” he confirmed. I am flattered, truly… Not that I know if it was honest or not.

“I never lie…” He trailed off before noticing my deadpan stare at him, staggering back slightly. ”Wait—at least maliciously! I’m not sure I’ve made you crack at all so far… also not intended to be malicious, okay!”

“I thought you had done that just a few hours ago… with the Ganlon Berry.”

“Okay, yeah, true; that was a joke, by the way. But still. Not even a wince?” He squinted suspiciously. “You sure you’re not secretly crying under that hair?”

I swallowed the last bite and threw away the core. “I clenched it. You just missed it.”

He deflated, back slumping and arms hanging. “Aw man… I missed the one moment the one and only Darkrai suffered. Sigh…”

“…Did you not see the furrows on my face when I screwed my eye?”

“Uh… you’re pitch-black and like, I’m sure there weren’t many, so I probably missed it, if there even was any…”

“Good to know,” I muttered.

He huffed. “Y’know, you’re lucky I like a challenge. Makes me feel like I’m trying to read a very edgy, very encrypted, mysterious book.”

“So, you are saying you like reading books and also… puzzles? That is unexpected.”

He scratched the back of his head with a sheepish chuckle. “I mean… I’m not into books. Not exactly a bookworm or anything…”

My eyelids lowered. “Of course you are not.”

“ What? ” he drawled, voice pitching up in exaggerated perplexity. “No, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m not the”—he leaned slightly to one side, raising a hand, repeatedly opening and closing it in a mock talking motion, voice dropping into a smug impersonation of a jock—“‘Pssh, books are for nerds’”—he straightened—”type of guy. They just… I dunno… Feel like they’re trying to put me to sleep? Or they get way too wordy and my brain suddenly pops an image of a derpy Psyduck-looking cloud in my head.”

I nodded in acknowledgement. “Glad to hear that you are not so… closed.”

“Of course! I’m so open-minded, heh!” He jabbed a thumb toward himself, smirking, then paused. “I think my attention span is kinda… eh.” He wobbled his hand in the air. “Or maybe I just haven’t found the right book yet.” He glanced at me with something softer. “I’ve always wanted to like them, get it? But admittedly, I forgot to get around to that… though then, you come along, and suddenly the feeling’s back again.” He scratched his cheek, glancing away. “So… thanks.”

“Me? How I act?”

“Well, yeah, ” he said, half-laughing. “You use too many words, you’re super wordy and always sound so… formal. Yet, you’re deep and make it sound mysterious, somehow—although that’s to be expected from the god of nightmares, no? It just really piques my interest!”

“I suppose, I am glad to hear that.”

“Yeah! You should be. Maybe I’d start reading books in hopes of following your footsteps—oh yeah that was just a guess, by the way. Could you, y’know, recommend me something that’s not boring?”

“Well, fantasy novels are a personal favorite of mine.” I closed my eyes. “Although, I am not sure if you would be a fan of that though—especially since it feels like we are in one already. Still, you might make good utility of that… imaginative brain of yours.” Then opened them back again and slowly turned to him. “If you want something less verbose though, try comics.” My voice dipped to a murmur. “Assuming those even exist in this world…”

Comics originated from East Asia, if I recall correctly. Given the level of technology here, the odds of them having spread all the way to this region—here, presumably somewhere in Europe—seem low. Not saying it is impossible, just unlikely.

Then again… would fantasy novels even exist here at all—especially when the world already feels like one already in my universe?

Though, in hindsight, my own world had multiple fantasy franchises, too.

He clasped his hands together in excitement. “Ooh! Once we’re done with all of this, we have to read one together, hehe! Or, y’know… ”—he leaned toward me with mock mischief—“you could read it to me… if you’re up for it.” He looked away from me. “If not, that's fine. I get how reading out loud really wears out your mouth; it’s basically speaking nonstop. Pssh.”

“I could try.”

“Oh yeah! I can’t wait to see the almighty Darkrai—who chases everyone away from sleep by terrorizing their dreams—actually be the one lulling me to sleep with his bedtime stories?” He clasped his cheeks. “Aww! It'd be so ironically cute!”

“I would rather you not fall asleep while I am reading.”

“I'll try, but no promises. Especially if you have one of those soothing narrator voices.” 

“Do you think so?”

“Well, I mean… kinda?” He shrugged with his hands. “If you read me a story, it'd be like trying to sleep in the middle of a thunderstorm. Or, no—a tornado: you know something dangerous is out there, and it’s creepy as hell—so creepy that it somehow loops back around to being calming. Make sense?”

“…Maybe, maybe not.”

“How do I put it?” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Your voice is so low and steady and flat that it just drags me under. Droning, in a good way. I swear it's not my fault if I pass out mid-sentence. That's all on you.”

“That does not sound… preferable.”

“What? No! It’s a compliment—kinda.” He nudged my arm gently. You could weaponize that voice, y’know? If Hypnosis or Dark Void ever fails, just start narrating. They'd eventually be out.” He chuckled. “Might take a while though, so don't knock yourself out with it too, you hear me?” He bumped my arms gently.

“One day, your pauldrons will be behind my future bruises…” I mumbled as another thought escaped my head.

“Hey! That's why I'm trying not to jab you too hard, alright?” He patted his shoulder plates. “Speaking of your suffering,”—he clapped his hands—“I can’t wait for the day you start tripping over your own words and choking on your own spit mid-reading.” He broke into giggles again, half-covering where his mouth would be.

“Then…”—I turned toward him with a barely visible manic smile—“I will make sure you will be right there with me for the full experience,” I said, deliberately. “You like… equality, do you not, Ashen? I would hate for you to miss out on your own share of the experience,” I mock-rued.

“You’re feeling better, huh? Wow, you sure know how to keep a guy humble!” He laughed, then stopped once he realized I was not. “Wait… are you serious? You're joking, right?”

“What do you mean ‘joking’? Would you not like that? Are those all not facts?” I put on my most innocent face possible.

“Heh… r-right. Full equality sounds… fair. Really.” He grinned nervously, looking away for a bit, before turning back, voice dropping. “Cael, please actually be for real.”

“I do not get what you intend to convey. I am always serious. When have you seen me bluffing around?”

“Cael, this isn't funny anymore…”

“Okay, fine. I will not hurt you. Not fatally, anyway.”

“ Fantastique ! Remind me not to tease you too much again, yeah?” He leaned in closer.

“Yes. I assure you, it will be no ordinary reminder. You are in for a surprise,” I said with no emphasis so as not to threaten him. It was true, though.

I meant what I said. Mostly. I would clarify that no harm was actually intended—not now, at least—but why should I when I have my dignity to protect?

Technically, it was a joke, albeit one honed to the finest edge I could manage in the moment—sharp enough to rattle, but not cut; I am proud of it, truthfully.

Ashen played along, sort of—yet part of me wonders if I had pressed too hard.

Well, he still leaned in afterward, instead of pulling away. That must count for something.

“Oh yeah by the way I wasn’t actually that scared,” he talked a mile a minute.

“Wha—”

Ashen harrumphed, interrupting me. “Anyways, why do you like the genres you mentioned so much?”

I blinked. He what now? That little—

…No. This is nothing to be mad about. But still—of course he did. Of course.

So, he had been acting as the flustered fool—maybe partially, and I should commend that… talent. Not that I had not expected it.

I felt… oddly defeated, yet a touch amused. If he wants escalation… I can provide.

Anyway, observing the path ahead…

I spotted a faint, soft brown glow blinking up once through the snow in the distance. “Save that for later. More shards.”

“Yup, yup! That's way more important. Let's go!”

Our shields lit up again.

“Oh, would you look at that! Nineteen and still five more to spare!” he exclaimed.

Yes. Nine hours and thirty minutes in.

Reaching the source, he knelt down, brushing away the frost, and there—half-buried in the ice—was another jagged, coffee-brown fragments, fused into one.

“Ah! We're almost done with this journey!”

“…Whatever you say.”

No, not really. We were far from done, and we still have no solid idea on how to restore the world; however, I did not want to ruin the moment. I can always reveal the rest of the plan later.

He stood up after packing the shards. “So… shall we continue?”

“Yes.”

I was about to float again when a flake of snow drifted down. Then another…

“Ashen. I thought snow did not fall anymore?”

“Yeah… That's weird. But so what? It's just snow! Plus, it's been so long since I've seen the falling of snow…!” He moved forward, head tilting up reverently.

“If you say so.”

I had never seen snow either, so I took in the sight of it too. The slow drop of the snowflakes felt peaceful…

But then the flakes came faster—and heavier.

Even through the shield, I could feel the wind beginning to bite.

Could this be…?

Chapter Text

The sky above dimmed more than it already was, somehow—not gradually, but with a sharp, sudden drop, like a curtain dropping after an act.

Ashen glanced around in a slow circle, arms tucked close to his sides. “Is it just me or… did it get darker? I’m sure you must be happy, eheh…”

I did not answer immediately.

Something churned in the distance. The wind growled low, but it kept growing. It whirred around the area, picking up snow along with it.

The snow kept thickening; in an instant, the world blurred white.

“Whoa—okay. Okay! It’s just snow! It’s—”

“No, it is not!” I cut in. “This is a blizzard.”

I felt the pressure warp around our shields. The snow swallowed the world whole, gradually drowning out the sound around us. The only source of light was Ashen’s flickering pupil and plume flames.

“Are our shields not going to crack? Maybe if we could find shelter…” I started a plan.

“Cael, are you serious?!” he shouted over the roar. “Wait—of course you are,” he corrected himself, shaking his head. “But anyways, do you think there’s a cave anywhere in this snowfield? We’re nowhere near cliffs!”

“Maybe we should have used our Warp Orb here instead…”

“You’re right, but we gotta stop focusing on the past. We have to push through this, and… hopefully escape the bounds of the snowstorm.”

I nodded; I am not sure if he could even see it through the whiteout. “Where to first?”

“Just… forward, I guess.” He exhaled hard. “Unless you’ve magically calculated where each direction will lead to… where else? It’ll be alright.”

“Sure.”

With this gale, it is hard to float—since I have nothing to support my body on except the air, probably. Subsequently, I finally used my slender legs to walk again for the first time in a while.

There. I suppose there exist moments where walking is easier than floating. For I have the ability to do both, I am grateful.

“Wait… you’re walking? You actually walk? Like, with those?” Ashen half-turned toward me, squinting through the haze.

“Yes. I can walk too. And run. What a shocker.”

“I thought your painfully thin ‘legs’ couldn’t be used for walking, and they, like, only support you while you’re hovering still ‘cause you always do that?”

“No. They are… functional. I was also quite surprised when I found out.”

Ashen stumbled a little sideways for some reason. “You were surprised?! So, you just looked down once and went, ‘Hey, these sticks are usable?’”

“Yes. I did that before when I had only arrived here and was still adjusting to floating.”

He let out a noise—something between a wheeze and a disbelieving laugh. “This is ruining everything I thought I knew about Darkrai. I can’t stop looking. You walk like a sleep paralysis demon trying to blend in with normal people.”

“Is that not what my entire role is about?”

“Uhh… yes. Okay, okay. You win. I-I don’t even have a comeback for that.”

“You must really like seeing this a lot, huh? Just as I had expected.”

“I mean, duh… It’s like watching a Gyarados fly, y’know? Especially when you consider they were just a puny fish before. I just—It’s weirdly captivating, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then, with my sharp sight—and, to an extent Ashen’s radiant flames, I managed to see a patch of bluer snow through the flurry. This is another—

“Watch out!”

“Where?” He turned around and walked backwards, accidentally stepping on the frost bloom trap. H… ow…?

This time, with my legs touching the ground, I could truly feel the shaking. The ground cracked; a second later, ice spears erupted upward, fanning into that familiar, rough halo—again. I have lost count—how many times is this now…?

“What were you trying to do?” I rested the back of my hand on my forehead.

“I thought I was switching directions!”

“By turning around and walking straight into it? A bold strategy.”

“I didn’t mean to walk into it! It was behind me!”

“Tch… Go, roast it.”

Without another word, he set his bindle and his arms rose as he let out a shaky laugh, turning toward me. The pauldrons magnetized with a mechanical clink, morphing into a cannon. The spiraling flame burst to life, melting through the frozen spikes with a loud hiss.

He picked it up again, and slipped through the melted edges with practiced ease, vanishing into the haze—unlike me, who has not tried jumping with these stilts hitherto.

“Mate, you coming or what?!” he shouted from a distance.

“Give me a break…” I mumbled.

I steadied myself after leaping over the steam-veiled gap.

“Keep moving.”

We continued onward. I had to fasten my pace slightly for a moment to catch up to him.

Just like he said… there is something oddly calming about the sound disasters produce. A low, constant whirr—buzzing like a dying circuit. And the effects of this one, especially, are even further amplified by the muffling effect of the snowstorm.

This is going to be a long one. I wish I had something to contemplate. But no thoughts are rising. Nothing is sticking.

Perhaps I should simply let myself enjoy the moment for now.

…

The whiteout makes it feel like I am walking through a void—blank and infinite, and most definitely white. But instead of being unpleasant, it is comforting.

Maybe it was the fact that there would be nothing to deal with in such a world. Except… boredom; only it is inevitable.

I recollect that Ashen once mentioned that he keeps his thoughts occupied by imagining things—building stories of whatever is around. Now that there’s nothing out here but frozen air, I wonder how he would handle this.

He should be calling for me any moment—

“Cael!” He groaned, right on cue. “I’m so bored. Please!”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I mean, you can always talk to me and stuff, but I know you’re not going to do that, so yeah, I’mma just go asking you questions again! Okay?”

“How are we going to converse comfortably—with no risk of miscommunication—when the blizzard is muting everything?”

“Come closer, duh?”

As someone not used to closeness, that did not cross my mind. But he is right. Furthermore, I need to defend myself from ennui as well anyway.

I hummed and scooted closer to him.

“Oh, and would you look at that; the cracks in our shields have expanded.”

I had just noticed. Just like in the milder icicle spear hail, the sound of cracking is way too hushed to be audible. Ashen—with his hypersensitive ears—would probably have realized earlier, though.

“I know, I just hope that it’ll be able to endure the snowstorm…”

“Me too. So, do you have your questions ready?”

“Lemme think for a bit. Hmmm…” He tapped on his chin with the broad part of his hands—the part that looks like what happens when all four fingers are merged. I do not think I need to elaborate much anymore going forward.

Speaking of the crack, I should be panicking right now. I just did hours ago—prior to entering the zone. In spite of that, my chest does not feel tight, very oddly. That should concern me more than it does.

So why not? Is it the ineluctability of the fractures? The steady intervals of the glows? Ashen’s presence? The way he laughs, even when the snow blinds us?

Probably all of it, none at all, or even a combination of the various possible factors.

This calmness is suspicious. It feels unearned, like it should belong to someone else… such as Ashen. I do not fully trust it—yet at the same time… our exploration here is almost done, which should leave less room for future hazards.

Maybe I am only indifferent not because I feel in control, but because I have already accepted that I never was. That whatever happens next does not need anticipation.

I do not think that is courage—just the quiet that follows resignation.

I watched a new scratch form—just right by my side. Still not afraid. Why?

“Okay!” he announced, putting his hands together. “I’ve got them questions!”

“About time.”

“Ooh… so you want something about time, yes?”

“No—”

“Then you got it! I’ll think about it after this one: if you could rename yourself, what’d your new name be?”

“This is emitting the same energy as that one ‘which Pokémon would you be other than the one you already are’ question, so surprise, surprise! I do not know. So you go first, again.”

“Hmm… new name? Maybe I’d shorten my existing name to just ‘Ash’. Or… something else more fiery, like ‘Feuer’ or ‘Blaze’, maybe with a quirky spelling like ‘Blaize’. Just the Armarouge in me talking, y’know?” He chuckled and paused.

“Okay, but real answer? I dunno.” He shrugged. “As you just saw there, I can’t make up my mind. I guess… I like my own name. I’d just keep ‘Ashen’, ‘cause that’s the name I started this whole journey with. I’d feel sad abandoning what I’ve stayed so long with. Now you!”

“Cael…” I repeated my own name. “Hm. If you could answer with that, then the same goes for me too. I would just keep my own.”

“Why?”

I lowered my gaze. “To put it simply, I do not know what else could replace it. If I changed it, that would prove otherwise, would it not?”

“…And why not?”

I looked down at my claws. “Not only do I not understand what my name means in the first place, I also do not know—do not understand myself. Names are supposed to embody who you are, right? It is just like when you asked me what other Pokémon I would be. I could not answer that because I am… still trying to understand who I truly, already am.”

“Wow, deep. Don’t overthink it, okay? I mean, feel free to think about it but like, your name’s really good already. It doesn’t need to be changed to begin with, heh!”

“…Thanks.”

I think I meant it, even if I said it like I barely knew how.

“Now. So, about the question about time, here's mine: would you rather be able to change your past or your future?”

“Ah… again with these tough questions.”

“You don't gotta answer if—”

“No. Nothing is the matter. It is just… complicated. Still thinking of what would be the best.”

I already knew, but I think I made it sound unsure, somehow.

“Oh… really?” He tilted his head. “I thought you would go for the past since, y'know… you have this sort of amnesia—it seems, and you seem really affected by it.”

“That is the problem. What would I change? I can not identify the origin of the damage. I do not know where I began to… decay ; just that I did. In addition, tampering with the past could lead to…”—my voice lowered more than it already is—“ bitter consequences. Who would I be if I had altered it? What if shifting it just crumbles me more in the present? I do not know if it would stop the hurt; I might… do it wrong all over again.”

I paused to look down at my hands, claws clenched, only to relax them again.

“So, no. I would not dare change the past. There simply exist too many variables that outweigh the pros. On the other hand, the future… is still breakable—malleable. It might not be in my favor, but at least it is visible. If you change the future, then what follows must be certain.”

“That’s…” He hesitated. “Kinda— no, really heavy.” He tittered shakily. “But I mean, I should've expected it, huh…? Time’s always gonna be deep, even with me—the brightest Armarouge around!—huh? Guess some things just refuse to lighten up.”

“Indeed. Also…” I started to give the illusion that I am still engaged.

I want to analyze a few things… but if he keeps speaking to me, that will not be feasible.

“Yes?”)

It feels very wrong to silence anyone—especially someone like him… outright. I would despise having that happen to me as well.

I could tell him to think of easier questions, but that would backfire; he can conjure those almost instantly. But… what if I come up with my own?

“Hey…” I blurted mindlessly to maintain the impression.

Perhaps something logical could work. Something that feels important enough to demand contemplation, but is, in truth, riddled with fallacies. A puzzle he will think he can solve… but is impossible.

No—this is impossible to make up! My brain is too logical to accept any contradictions…

(“Yes, Cael? I'm listening. You're acting really funny right now…”)

You know what, scratch that. Let us just try to request space in the most polite way I can think of possible.

I feel very obliged to say ‘Uh…’ for some reason right now. But I am not going to.

“Do you mind… silence? Just for a little while. I have something on my mind.”

“About that time question I just asked?”

“Yes.” Albeit, that was not all.

“But Cael, I'm gonna be so bored without you!” He raised a hand sloppily with a groan. “Do you know how bored I was when you were acting funny just before? Wait, no, actually it was kinda amusing to see you like that but that's besides the point!”

“No, I did not know.”

Our shields glowed. Why are there so many interruptions recently?

To be fair, we are in the middle of the exploration, but still. I genuinely thought there would be more empty periods.

No matter. There will always be another time for that, right?

“Oh, twenty!”

…I just hope that the thoughts I were planning to contemplate on do not scatter ahead of the time.

(“Wait…”)

But, presently, I can feel it starting to slip away from my memory already…

(“What is that?”)

Why does this always happen? Just when I finally have something worth holding onto, it slips; the moment I want to think clearly—I cannot.

What if I lose it for good this time? What if it was important? What if there was a pattern, or a clue, or… or something I was just starting to understand?

There must be a way to hold onto it. I just need time. Just one moment. One more—

(“Cael, can you see that?”)

No, there is no time. Our time is almost up… but I just need alternative solutions.

My hand is resting on my temple already. Since when…?

(“Hey… god of nightmares?”)

I took a deep breath.

It will work out. That was probably just the nocebo effect or the confirmation bias.

I just need to remember the question—‘would you rather be able to change the past or the future?’—or if not, I could just ask Ashen about it. Seeing that he is able to recollect his dreams entirely, his memory should be better than mine.

“Are you okay?”

“H-huh? Yes? Yes I am.”

“I don't buy that, but okay. This is important so… I thought I had to call you right away. Anyways, look there.” He pointed. There was it… again?

“Didn't we just run into whatever that thing is called?”

I had forgotten to tell him what I called it.

“A frost bloom,” I said slowly. “That is how I personally name it, at least. Unless you know someone else who might have triggered that,”—my breath stalled—“I think that is… in fact, the same one we just came across.”

“But… how are we back?”

We both stared at it for a moment longer. Ashen lowered his body and shielded his squinted eyes, like he was trying to find something—anything—different about it.

“Maybe there's another one? Maybe the blizzard accidentally triggered one?”

There was an opening in it—smaller than the one I remembered him scorching. Perhaps it had simply frozen over again as the snowstorm advanced… but I will give it the benefit of the doubt.

“Well… they do not seem to generate in pairs,” I stated automatically. “However, as for your second question—while I do not think the pressure of mere snow is enough to set off the trap, it still could be a possibility… considering I know barely anything about this place.”

“Wait, what if we mark this place?” He knelt down and made random scribbles on the snow-covered ground below with his hand—although, when he stepped backward, it was wiped away by the flurry at once.

“Clearly an ineffectual idea.”

Silence. The wind kept on swirling as if we had not just come back to where we came from, as if time had not just folded on itself without warning.

Those are just my assumptions.

“Let's just… continue. Go forward again. Who knows? This might just be a coincidence.” He tilted my head toward me with an awkward smile.

“Okay.”

We kept pressing on. 

“Oh yeah, Cael. Now that we've cleared that up—for now, HELP ME I'M GOING TO GET BORED AGAIN PRETTY SOON.”

I stared at him for a bit.

“Why are you asking me? Were you not the one that came up with ideas on how to not get bored?”

“Okay, and? Doesn't mean I know every way to avoid it! Plus, it's about time you give your own share of the favor! Give me ideas, pretty please?” He leaned his face closer with that pleading face again. Guh?!

“Well… how about you try… answering those questions you are coming up with yourself?”

He blinked quickly, right as he smacked his own forehead in realization. “Oh right, right! You're so s— clever, Cael! Silly me… How could I not think of that sooner? I'm gonna get to that right now.” He hummed loudly.

“You do not need to make your cerebration… so loud.”

“Well at least now you know I'm actually using my brain cells!”

“Sure.”

Ashen is now… quiet. Good; I somehow managed to distract him. The chance did not take as long as I had expected to arrive. Where were we, again?

I remember how I intentionally used ‘decay’ there. He did not flinch, interestingly.

He believed that. So that means I have succeeded, right?

While I meant most of it… that was not the whole truth. I have conveniently left out how I feel through everything and hid it behind rationality. I conveniently said that instead of ‘I am afraid I will ruin things again’. I have conveniently left out how much I do want to revisit the past and know what I have forgotten.

So I could…

Nevermind.

(Strike them back?)

I would, but…

(But what? You are a Darkrai now. The god of nightmares. The one who brings fear with a mere glance.)

That is true…

I want to return to the past so I could face them, whoever they are. Not to forgive nor to understand. But to stand in front of them and not shatter, but watch them shatter instead.

(Even if it would not fix anything?)

Even if it would not fix anything.

(Even if it could make things worse?)

Even if it could make things worse.

(Even if you are still terrified?)

Even if… no. Who am I kidding?

The thought makes me sweat, even now—because the part which wants to fight back… is the same part who is terrified of the face. The name. The memory. What they have done to me.

(But why are you still terrified? You are power that bloomed in the wreckage they left behind, after all.)

Does it even count when I only gained this as a result of my… transformation? Just because I became a Darkrai?

(No. Who cares how you got it? The same goes for most if not all Legendary and Mythical Pokémon here too.)

Right.

(Now you realize. You are finally being honest; you want revenge.)

No.

(Then what do you want?)

I want to not be… powerless—for once. Even if I do not overwrite the self I once was, even if I return to the past as a separate Darkrai—just a future version watching my past, feeble human self from the outside—I can still protect them. I just want to protect anyone from experiencing the same thing as me—even if I lose, even if it ruins me.

Even if I fail, that is also fine. My intention is not to fix it. It is to witness it. See what I lost. Remember who I was. Assign a form to the ache I carry… until this very day.

Now… back onto the main topic: what I said to Ashen.

That train was lengthy. Judging from that, countless doors would be opened were I to expound on everything… when I am still struggling to close the ones I have.

I feel bad for not telling him everything, but I must. I did not intend to deceive him… nor have I in any way; I just needed to protect myself.

If I give him the whole truth, he might ask more questions, eventually reaching one I am not ready to answer. Like… ‘What do you want from me?’. That is a complicated one.

If he looks satisfied with my existing answer—which he is—then that is enough. Although… that could be dangerous. It means he trusts me, when I can not even trust myself.

Trust is fragile. One mistake—one misunderstanding, and it all falls apart. I would rather be left by someone who did not trust me in the first place than someone who I broke the trust of.

“Hey, Cael. How are you enjoying the silence?” he suddenly questioned.

“I… enjoyed it, I suppose. I assume you are done with your own questions?”

“You're done with whatever was on your mind?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, great, ‘cause I wanted to tell ya something.”

“Go on.”

“So y’know how I kept talking about boredom and complaining about it, right? Sorry if you got irked at that. I was joking about it…” He offered a thin laugh.

“That did not cross my mind at all.”

Finally, something hopefully comforting from me that I truly meant.

“Wait, really? Oh, how perfect! Then that means I can continue whining to you, right? And you'll give me advice?”

“I would rather you did not.” What I did not mention is that I was fine with letting him do that; I could care less right now.

“Hehe, mark my words! Okay, so—”

The wind abruptly howled. Harder, sharp enough to make me flinch slightly from the force notwithstanding the shield. I turned toward the direction it came from; a new crack formed near it.

Is Ashen not in the middle of a sentence…?

I could hear nothing. Not even the storm raging outside. It was total silence. Not muffling, but an erasure.

He gestured at me with both hands, something frantic. I could not tell if he was panicking or just confused. I shook my head and gestured to my ears—well, where they would be. Then gave a shrug.

He nodded, before trying again—slower this time. He raised his mitten-like hands to form a sign. A shape? Letters? I assume it is the latter, but it is too indistinct. His hands are, as expected, too broad and stubby.

I looked at my own. Three claws… not enough either. We can not communicate using hands even if we knew sign language.

But we still need to.

We do not have lips—at least visible ones. We can not try mouthing words. I guess this is the drawback of mouthlessness.

He scuffed the snow with his foot, then looked down, hands on his chin. Hm…

I have gotten an idea.

I slowly knelt down, and dragged my middle claw—a Darkrai's equivalent of the index finger—through the snow.

“This. Write.”

We are severely doomed if this world does not use the Latin script—which, frankly, it should not. I also hope the text does not get wiped away before Ashen can read it.

He lit up, nodded, then dropped to one knee, beginning to carve shapes into the snow using his thumb.

“OK.”

The writing did not disappear as fast as the scribbles Ashen made prior. What is the difference?

Recalling back, his marks were outside the shield. Of course. The shields dampen most physical interference, and our texts are inside. So this means…

I overwrote my former writing. I imagine I—and also Ashen—would have to do this every time I am starting a new line in one location, so I do not believe I need to mention this detail every time.

“Txt must b in shild.”

He seemed momentarily shocked—presumably due to my informal writing which I am only doing for the sake of efficiency—before giving me a thumbs-up.

“WHT DO NXT?”

“Kep going.”

I turned toward Ashen, running slow, absent circles near his temple. Now without any quick way to communicate, he must be really bored. I wonder how I am going to deal with this as well…

From what I can remember, Pokémon uses a different, unintelligible script; thus, I am mildly nonplussed by their use of the Latin script. So why do they use Latin characters here now? When did that happen? Is it not different for Pokémon Mystery Dungeon, or what?

Perhaps… I could find out more as we go on.

And now… with the absolute stillness, this is the truest a sleepy stretch could ever be. Maybe I should have talked with Ashen more while the occasion lasted. How lamentable. If I had, I might have gathered more material to think about—more from our exchange…

How convenient that it interrupted us during the middle of one. I still wonder what Ashen was going to say to me there.

Oh, yes. Battle mechanics still exist. What else have I not thought of?

Experience. And perhaps evolution as well. I can think of that.

We gain experience from battles, do we not? But is that meant to be figurative—like learning a lesson—or literal? As in, a real, measurable substance that accumulates?

Is it akin to training the body? Building muscle after repeated strain? Or does it go deeper? Something quantifiable—a number that rises with every engagement, even if the enemy was weaker, even if the battle was one-sided?

However, it is widely accepted that experience accumulates through battle. That much I can piece together. What does that mean though?

In the games, you only gain experience after defeating an opponent. But in other media, even unfinished and/or friendly battles offer some growth. Why did they not do that more often? It would be a reliable way to farm Exp., no?

Wait—perhaps I know why. That raises a more… troubling idea.

If experience is measurable, and the amount gained is low when fighting weaker opponents, then… it can certainly be abused. You can deliberately target someone far below your strength—in endless succession, for scraps of progress.

Defeat, heal, then rinse and repeat; that sounds like a war crime. It unsettles me deeply. Surely that is not how things work here; otherwise, the world would be far more grotesque than it already is.

At least in the games, a defeated wild Pokémon cannot be encountered again. I take some comfort in that design choice. So perhaps… levels do not exist in this world at all.

I dislike how it is not measurable, yet I suppose it is more… humane. Pokémone? Hm. Whatever.

Without levels, then experience groups likely do not exist either. Pokémon would not be bound to predetermined growth curves. Perhaps they gain experience at different rates.

Unless… how much they gain from battles is influenced by their mental capabilities. And that is the new ‘experience group’, which is… another unsettling thought.

Following that, Butterfree must be brilliant, and Hydreigon are moronic, for lack of a better term—which is absurd. Since Mythical Pokémon like me are very powerful, then they should be in the ‘Slow’ leveling rate; that would suggest I am incredibly dense, which I am not. At least… I do not think so. Who knows if I am secretly unfathomably imbecilic?

No… I dislike that train of thought. I will consider experience groups nonexistent. Let that be final.

And then we have the matter of evolution. I suppose that has been largely forgotten ever since the Catastrophe happened, but there are still clues.

Does age play a role? Does one ‘mature’ the instant they hit a threshold, regardless of mental development? Or is it effort-based?

Considering how some evolutions involve… items, or trade—wait, no. Shelve that—I would say that age does not have an impact. A relief, perhaps; good to know that this world rewards effort.

Then there is the matter of moves.

In the games, you learn specific moves at specific levels. But if levels are not real… are moves still learned that way? Or is it tied to targeted training?

Perhaps it is like evolution. You can learn a move early only if you train for it, not just to get stronger in general. 

Without levels, Exp.-affecting items like Rare Candies or Exp. Shares should not exist either. How would that even function anyway? Do they directly empower one or incorporate the transfer of knowledge or strength in some form—if we are talking about Exp. Shares?

In the case it does though… could you suddenly learn a new move after eating one then forget something randomly?

How do you even decide which moves to forget?

Ashen mentioned that moves are not forgotten. They simply evolve, such as how Ember becomes Flamethrower. Although… what if the move is unrelated to any of your existing moves? That would be achievable if TMs existed in this world, but do they?

And if you can choose what to forget, then theoretically, you could have both Ember and Flamethrower simultaneously—for whatever reason. That seems inefficient.

Now… trading.

How do Pokémon like Alakazam exist here—in a world without trainers? There is no trading here. No ownership to transfer. So what is it about the trade that causes evolution? Is it the machine itself? Energy transfer?

And then we have the bizarre evolution methods such as the infamous turn-your-console-upside-down method to evolve… Inkay into… Malamar—I think that are their names. How would that work here? Just float upside down and there you have it?

That would be absurdly effortless. Though I believe it might still require a certain amount of experience.

I need to ask Ashen later about all of this, assuming I can remember it all. Damn it.

I will save type matchups for later; I am intending to… organize my moveset for the best possible coverage, so if I think about it now—without the knowledge of a Darkrai’s learnset and the chart, then… it would be futile, assuming the former even exists. Do people know enough about Darkrai to determine that?

In addition, it would be a whole mess. Especially resistances. I know it. So that is why I would prefer if I had someone to externalize it to.

I wonder how battles here are winnable and losable, considering that every Pokémon knows a secret extra move: the fabulous ‘dodge’—insert sparkle emojis. Anyhow, I wonder if dodging is truly that hard to do; it does not seem so for me. Natheless, I can not forget that things are never as easy as they seem.

I have run out of battle mechanics to ponder about. How excellent.

Ugh… I need more things to think about. Why is my brain so… not creative?

…

……

………

I am literally tugging on my white, billowing plume right now. My brain is not coming up with anything, yet it is overheating. How many minutes has it been of unsuccessful attempts to come up with something?!

Wait… hair?

FINALLY.

Hm. I can play around with my own body for… scientific purposes. There are many questions I would like to answer, such as: ‘Is my hair made of multiple strands or is it just one big structure?’, ‘Why is it surging?’, ‘Can I stop it from billowing?’, ‘What would it be like to lift that part covering my eyes so I can finally see with two eyes after a long while?’, ‘Is my bottom half filled or is it hollow?’, ‘Where do my legs originate from?’, and ‘Does my plume serve a purpose?’.

To the antepenultimate and penultimate questions, I imagine that it is completely hollow starting from my… really narrow waist that has a ridge on it for some reason, seeing that it always folds when I sit down. It is quite interesting how it maintains its integrity after being deformed; it reminds me of our ears. For the last question, I do not think so—aesthetic purposes, of course. Not complaining.

I would like to answer my other questions but…  it really feels undignified to mess around with your own body, even if it is for educational reasons. Especially in front of him.

We shall do it in… private.

Pokémon biology has always been one of the grandest enigmas in my world. And now that I have… firsthand access, I would very much like to satisfy my curiosity.

I glanced toward my companion—my… test subject, if I may use the term loosely. Not that I will study anyone’s visceral anatomy, though. Please no.

I shall prepare the questions for later, because…

We are back. At that pivotal frost bloom. Of course.

We stood there, staring at each other for a while until one of us finally crouched down.

“ONO. WERE BACK.”

“Not coinc anm, def.”

“WHT DO NOW?”

“Try diff dir?”

He stood back up and nodded at me. I beckoned for him to follow me, and he did. We went to the right; it really did not matter which direction we headed toward if this is truly… a loop.

Bored… So bored. Again.

So… time to dwell on the problem formulation.

I am turning it into a thesis. How fun. If academies existed here, that sounds practical.

Back to what I was saying.

I stared at him—walking a few steps ahead of me—to figure out what the key points of my study would be.

Hmm…

What are those sharp, pointy protrusions beside his eyes? Does it serve a role, or is it merely decorative, tantamount to my plume, hair, whatever it is called—which for some reason undulates eternally?

Are his armor and helmet removable or… a part of his body? I would be blown away were the latter to be the case—which sounds the most likely. Oh dear.

That burning plume and the wisps on his eyes too. Is it cosmetic, or can it actually burn me if I reached out a claw to it?

Can he move his pauldrons freely or is it just locked in place, floating beside his arm—only capable of turning into cannons? Can I move it too?

It is quite interesting to note how many similitudes we share with each other. Applying to both of us, what would it look like if one stuck something—such as a claw for me—inside where our mouths would be, bearing in mind that it is invisible? It has to look very… peculiar, like we are phasing through our heads.

He looks quite humanoid, so I suppose… that is where my inquiries end. There is not much to question when the object of interest is just another version of something you are familiar with. How exciting.

Can my brain please generate more things to think about?

…

……

Oh. Alright.

Maybe I have mused on my identity once or twice already… but I am bound to mull over things I have thought of earlier anyway. I tend to forget things; I am in the mood to do so right now, and besides, there are only so many topics one can contemplate on, unprompted.

Our shields shimmered. Twenty one, ten hours and thirty minutes in. We locked eyes, a silent agreement passing between us.

Also, I noticed the cracks on my own shield propagating, my entire left side now a mosaic of fractured light. It was analogous to looking through shattered glass.

Alright. Okay. What else is there to say?

Now back to my mind.

My identity… Yes.

Everything starts with an origin.

Why, out of all the Pokémon I could have transformed into, it had to be Darkrai? Why this form? Why this shape? Why this power? Was it random, or was it chosen?

It feels like it could not have been random—that would take an insane amount of luck, and I have never been the most fortunate… at least, I think; hence, this should have been something chosen. But if it was, by what standard? What makes me worthy of this role?

Wait… is it Darkrai who I became, or was I a Darkrai who somehow lived their entire life—up until this point—as a human, without realizing at all? That would make the choice explanation more likely—it was just fate. But then… no. That sounds unrealistic.

Maybe I was given this role because of its… simplicity. At least that is what I am perceiving. What is a god of nightmares even supposed to do? Maintain some sort of dream web? The flow of nightmare energy? That cannot be real.

Perchance, it is that uncomplicated. What else can I do? I have not even discovered all of my abilities. And power without knowledge is just as good as power without control.

But mayhaps, me, not knowing the full extent of my power, means I am different from other Mythical Pokémon. That I am not shackled to the version of Darkrai the world expects. That I am destined to change preconceived notions.

…Who am I kidding? Of course that is not the case. I just have not found them yet. That is probably natural for every powerful Pokémon out there.

Nevertheless… I will still strive to mend that.

But still, that does not warrant that I have a strong influence on the world. I just… exist—even with this label. Like Manaphy. I do not feel mythical. I drift aimlessly. I stare more than I speak. I know nothing, and I terrify myself.

If not, why would the so-called god of nightmares stand here, trapped in a glorified snow globe, accomplishing nothing with an airheaded Armarouge? Even he is bright, bold, as expected from  a being of fire and psychic force. How mythic of me.

If I am fear incarnate, then why do I cower at the past? At mere, ‘harmless’ gestures and words? Perhaps he is right; I am picky.

Or not. Mayhap, this is how the embodiment of darkness should act anyway—brooding, detached. Not boisterous.

But then, why does he treat me like any other travel partner—joking, mocking, and grinning at me as if encountering a Mythical is a daily happening? Whilst I have not encountered any else, do they just roam around nowadays?

Or—on a lighter note, maybe this is just how he treats everyone. But… that does not sound exactly pleasing to me either.

Equality… It sounds good, virtuous, and ideal, but I have always found something off with it.

If everyone is treated the same—no special treatment, no favoritism, no bias—then, by definition, I am no one. I am nothing. The way I speak, the way I think, the way I behave, the way I am, my strengths, my imperfections, the way I am— none of that would change how others see me.

On paper, that should be good. That is the goal, is it not? No prejudice, no assumptions… But then, why bother existing at all if nothing about you matters? If nothing makes you special?

If kindness is distributed evenly, then it is not kindness. Kindness implies going above neutrality… and that if that were the case, then kindness would be the new standard. If everyone is spoken to with the same tone, then tone means nothing.

I… do not want equality, but I am not advocating for cruelty either. There must be a way to avoid discrimination while not flattening everything into sameness.

But how would a work without discrimination nor equality work?

Maybe a world where differences exist. Where you can like some more than others, where dislike is not a sin, but a signal—where nobody is punished for who they are. No superiority, no inferiority, just freedom—with texture.

I do not want to be treated like everyone else—nor feared, either. I want to be… What is the word? Acknowledged.

Non-hostility. Not equality. Is this what equity truly is?

That would be tolerable, howbeit out of the question. But is it really unfeasible?

With my power, perchance I could… change how things work around. Hm.

I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned around. It was, of course, Ashen. What is up now?

He pointed ahead—as if I could not see it—and there was that. The familiar formation. Those spikes, that shape. Again.

We are back. Clearly, this will not work.

He knelt first.

“WHT DO NOW? AGAIN.” He wrote on the snow.

“Thinking…”

We always end up here. Even after walking multiple times and trying a different angle. There is no forward—at least a true one.

The bloom is not exactly where we started, but… it has become our constant. The start, the end, the marker.

The loop is spatial, not temporal. That much is certain; therefore, it is not a rewind, but a reroute. What shape goes around?

Circles. Spheres. Which means… the furthest we can go is not a destination, but a limit. The farther you go from one point, the closer you come to the same point again.

Thence, the solution is not to try escaping this madness, but to find the place farthest from this point.

But how will we do that?

The more you divide something in half, the closer you will get to zero.

If we walk forward, the frost bloom will eventually back into view…

There, we stop, then turn around. Then, we see how long it takes for the frost bloom to appear again from the other direction. The midpoint between that distance traveled is the farthest point.

But then… how do you figure that out?

We need something… measurable. Time could work… though we have no stopwatch. What else?

…Steps. I will be the reference point for it since we might have different step lengths. Divide it by two, and there we have it. 

Like a pendulum… swinging back and forth, gradually zeroing in on its resting point.

That is our way out.

I snapped my fingers, and started drawing on the snow.

“Idea:

Get it?

“NO. •⁠‿⁠•”

“Js follow me.”

“OK, I TRUS U. ^_^”

The plan is set.

Great. I have utterly run out of things to cerebrate about. 

…

Never mind. My plan.

Is it foolproof? I do not know… I am not sure if it even is complete, but this is as far as my brain can go.

What if I miscount? Unlike the shields which have long, fixed intervals, steps are irregular and quick. I also anticipate it being more than hundreds…

What if the loop is not even a sphere nor a circle? Something beyond my comprehension, like… a 4-dimensional sphere? A… hypersphere? That would render the established midpoint useless.

What if the frost bloom is not even in the edge of the loop and that… we are just in the middle of a circle? The center of a sphere? I am making too many assumptions.

Are there more variables?

I have not even accounted for the distance we see the frost bloom from, seeing the raging blizzard right in front of our eyes—and variations when we see it from different sides.

I should have accounted for them all… Yet, I did not.

Ashen trusted me without questions, without doubt, without hesitation. That breezy, though superficial belief that he knows what I am doing… when I do not.

How foolish of him.

Trust, as always, is comparable to stained glass. Magnificent, yet delicate—flimsy. Sometimes… I do not even realize when it starts to crack, especially under all the layers of beauty.

And… for some reason, I know what it feels like, even though I do not recall what. Or who. Or where. Or when.

If this plan fails, I would be the reason for our downfall. All the blame goes to me. Ashen just followed my misguidance. I will break it, and I do not even have any justifications other than ‘I did not know’.

And those words… They never work. They never meant anything, did they?

I am sure I have said them heretofore. I must have. Because… something inside me knows that will only make it worse, even when that is all the defense I have.

I did not… know. Nobody told me.

Say it, and the punishment doubles. Say it, and they will say you intended it. Say it, and they will say I have been warned.

I can already expect Ashen to say: ‘How could you not know?’, ‘What were you thinking?’, ‘No? I have told you!’.

No explanation saves me. Not logic. Not sincerity. Not even silence, because it was seen as defiance—and speaking was seen as excuses.

There was never a right answer, only a right outcome; when I failed to produce it, I was the problem, the failure, and the cause. Mistakes were not accidents… but something personal. That I was careless. Thoughtless. Flawed.

Even if no one else sees it that way… I still do. Because that is how it has always worked. Somehow.

Has it?

I do not remember.

But this is the lesson I have learned. A poisonous one. An addicting one. Something I can not let go. And I hate how naturally my body and mind accepts this.

Even if I could not have possibly foreseen, predicted—even if it was inevitable, it… it will still be my fault.

I am already bracing for useless apologies that at least… helps let go of my regrets, even though things do not get better. For the backlash I do not think Ashen will give me… but what if he does?

What if I lead him into collapse, and all he can see is my failure? My stupidity? My arrogance for thinking I could solve this?

I did not cause it, but I did not prevent it either. I acted, but I did not anticipate the right move. It was not out of malice, but ignorance… seems just as damning.

What if he realizes he should never have trusted me in the first place? And… what if he is right?

If this strategy falls short… we will still wander in circles without progress. Our shields will break in the end and we will be left stranded in the white. And… I will be the one who led him here. The reason everything ends.

Again…

…

Ah—?

I jerked up.

Ashen patted me on the back once and beckoned for me to resume. I must have stopped accidentally after getting consumed in my thoughts. Right.

And our battered shields have conveniently glowed too. So… twenty two. Exactly eleven hours in… We do not have much time left.

I fell into step in front of him again. We must continue and finish this as soon as possible.

We are still here, moving together. He is still following me, still believing in me, despite not knowing what I am stressing about currently: the risks, the doubt, the panic gnawing at me from the inside.

Still reckless as always…

But—being trusted does not feel so bad.

It is grounding. My steps feel like it has weight. As though it matters—and to an extent, me; for once. I do not know why.

Something in me is just waiting for it all to fall apart—perchance it even wants it to. So I do not need to bear any weight and just… enjoy the sweet test of apathy.

Still, on the other side, another does not want to stop walking. Wants to be a hero.

I… enjoy being seen this way. As the mastermind who knows what to do, even when the path is obscured.

A leader?

Mayhaps.

What matters now is… acting, though… I am still unsure if it would even succeed. I have always acted but I still get blamed for not anticipating it, or at least doing so appropriately…

…

I can still try. I said that prior, did I not?

No.

As the commander, I shall change the goal. It is no longer to find the farthest point from the frost bloom, but to move forward. To end up elsewhere—anywhere but where we began. To make progress, however slight.

That sounds… odd. I find it easier to just… follow and not carry any responsibility. Nonetheless, there is a strange familiarity in this… an unnamed longing. Something that says ‘Yes, finally. This is how it should have been. Congrats.’ For trust or leadership, I do not know; maybe both.

So, is this the result of being a Darkrai? Is it just my mythical presence, or something else? I am… impressed that I commanded respect without force—instilling dread, but through clarity.

Is this the start of my legacy? Heh…

No. It is fun to imagine, however.

Regardless, there would be no way my proposition will go wrong now, right? The goal is general and feasible enough, after all.

Right… At least, I think—I hope.

I spotted a spiky structure in the distance, even through the flurry—probably thanks to my eye.

I showed a palm to my back, signaling Ashen to stop, then wrote:

“Stop.”

“HUH?”

“U not see it?”

“NO.”

“Figures. Btw, now turn around.”

“UR PLAN?”

“Yes. ‘s working. imo…”

“O NICE. SO DEPENDABLE!”

I hesitated to write ‘Ty’ just to ultimately decide not to.

What is the next part? Walking back and… counting?!

I have almost forgotten about that. I kept rambling on about how I could miscount, anticipating it to be over hundreds of steps… yet I never considered how I can avoid it.

“Als, wait. Gotta think!” I scrawled.

“Oh? U forgor abt smth? Haha!”

I idly dotted the frost below with ellipses as I rode my train of thought.

What would be an easy way to count that many numbers without overloading your brain?

Obviously, counting one by one would be unworkable. I would start stumbling on my numbers once I reach the high 300s, such as 387, 388, 389, 380— 390, and so on. Or earlier. It actually already starts ramping up on the difficulty around the 60s.

Ten…? No. Too frequent. I will have to reset count every few seconds just to record it. Too distracting.

Twenty and fifty sound better… but is bad for me numerically. It is not as crisp and harder to multiply… at least compared to multiples of ten. Of course, twenty times five is a hundred, and fifty times two is also a hundred. But still. I would not want to divide the amount of twenties or fifties by five and two respectively just to get the number.

So that leaves one hundred. In these cases, a three-digit number is the perfect milestone between two- and four-digit numbers. I can keep it tallied in my head—once, then twice, and so on. Every one hundred steps, just make a mark. If I end somewhere in-between, I can add that remainder to the total.

It is a good base. Multipliable. Just change the number at the front with what you multiply it by. Easy to count. Easy to stop at.

It will do.

“Ok, got it.”

“WOW, U RLY THOUGHT DIS THRU.”

“Ofc. Now go. Btw, b slower. Gotta count.”

He beamed.

We turned around.

Alas, there is no time to dwell on life’s biggest questions anymore. At least there is something to do here though: count.

1, 2, 3…

4, 5, 6…

7, 8, 9…

10, 11, 12…

…16, 17, 18…

…22, 23, 24…

…28, 29, 30…

My pace needs to be steady.

…37, 38, 39…

…43, 44, 45…

…52, 53, 54…

…61, 62, 63…

…70, 71, 72…

Feel the steps. 

…70… 9, 80, 81…

…91, 92, 93…

…98, 99, 100.

First hundred.

1, 2, 3…

…16, 17, 18…

…31, 32, 33…

…46, 47, 48…

Your… ‘feet’ hitting the ground.

…61, 62, 63…

…80… 2, 83, 84…

…95, 96, 97…;

…98, 99, 100.

Second hundred.

1, 2, 3…

4, 5, 6…

Ashen is still behind. Good.

…19, 20, 21…

…40, 41, 42…

…58, 59, 60…

…76, 77, 78…

…98, 99, 100.

Third hundred.

1, 2, 3…

…10, 11, 12…

…22, 23, 24…

Must not lose count.

…43, 44, 45…

…61, 62, 63…

…79, s— eight… y, 81…

…98, 99, 100.

Fourth hundred.

1, 2, 3…

…7, 8, 9…

Everything depends on this.

…19, 20, 21…

…46, 47, 48…

…64, 65, 66…

…82, 83, 84…

…98, 99, 100.

Fifth hundred.

1, 2, 3…

…10, 11, 12…

…31, 32, 33…

…49, 50, 51…

…67, 68, 69…

…98, 99, 100.

Sixth hundred.

1, 2, 3…

4, 5, 6…

7, 8, 9…

Eyes on my legs.

…52, 53, 54…

…98, 99, 100.

Seventh hundred.

1, 2, 3…

…10, 11, 12…

…34, 35, 36…

But do not forget to look forward.

…55, 56, 57…

…98, 99, 100.

Eighth hundred.

1, 2, 3…

…13, 14, 15…

…37, 38, 39…

The frost bloom might appear anytime.

…73, 74, 75…

…98, 99, 100.

Ninth hundred.

1, 2, 3…

…19, 20, 21…

…43, 44, 45…

…76, 77, 78.

I see something. Halt. It is a jagged formation. That must be the frost bloom.

I tugged on Ashen’s free arm immediately.

“Done. Stop.”

I might have missed something… but it should not matter. The first goal was unrealistic anyway, especially without any measuring instruments.

“WHT NUM?”

“978. 978/2 → …? Can u math?”

“NO. HEHE.”

“Okay…

Go bak tht 𝑥 of steps.”

“IVE NEVER C-N THAT ÷ METHOD B4. COOL!”

“Mhm.”

Ugh… I will have to count again. Arceus.

There is no time to think about the implications behind his words.

489 is our target. Four one-hundreds and one eighty-nine. I need to remember that at all times.

It starts… now.

1, 2, 3…

4, 5, 6…

7, 8, 9…

This plan better be worth it.

…13, 14, 15…

…28, 29, 30…

…40, 41, 42…

…61, 62, 63…

It must be.

…73, 74, 75…

…91, 92, 93…

…98, 99, 100.

First hundred number two.

1, 2, 3…

4, 5, 6…

…16, 17, 18…

Keep going.

…31, 32, 33…

…55, 56, 57…

…76, 78— 77, 78…

Or else it will all be for nothing.

…88, 89, 90…

98, 99, 100.

Second hundred number two.

1, 2, 3…

…7, 8, 9…

…22, 23, 24…

…46, 47, 48…

Please do not lose count now.

…58, 59, 60…

…79, 80, 81…

…98, 99, 100.

Third hundred number two.

1, 2, 3…

…10, 11, 12…

…25, 26, 27…

…37, 38, 39…

My legs are tiring.

40, 41, 42…

…52, 53, 54…

…64, 65, 66…

…82, 83, 84…

98, 99, 100.

Fourth hundred number two.

1, 2, 3…

…16, 17, 18…

…28, 29, 30…

Though I cannot stop now.

…49, 50, 51…

…58, 59, 60…

Where is it. Where is it. Where is it—

…73, 74, 75…

We are so close.

…84, 85, 86…

87, 88, 89.

Here! Finally. The fateful point we have been searching for.

I immediately collapsed, kneeling with my arms as support.

My claws dug into the snow. I was still breathing heavily. Except—wait.

I heard it; breath. My own panting. Sound.

It has returned.

Our shields were badly damaged, distorting everything. I could barely see through it; it was like broken glasses. While it was intact, I would say a single impalement from those frost blooms—no, even a single snowball thrown at us would shatter this completely. Extreme carefulness is required.

I tilted my head, just barely, and sure enough, the wind had lost its roar. The white around us was fading. Still there, indeed—but thinner now, more fragmented, no longer swallowing all. The storm had passed. Not fully gone, but fading.

I heard Ashen’s staggered steps behind.

“…Cael!” he called, voice coming out hoarser than I expected.

His red, flickering flames came into view.

“Cael, you okay?”

“Of course I am. Why would I not be?” I sat down.

“I mean, you look tired.”

“Yes. Unlike you, I do not have endless stamina.”

“Fair. You better be ready for my commentary on everything that just happened in that whiteout.”

I nodded once, then slowly floated, retracting my legs. “Also, look yonder.”

“Huh?”

“The boundary… We are almost there.”

We were closer to the translucent wall than ever, still shimmering a sky-blue gleam.

He gasped. “Oh… yes!”

“We just need to… search around the edges for the last flux shard, probably.”

“Wait, there’s something there! Just wait here!” He started dashing off elsewhere. I did not object.

He ran up a snow-dusted incline. “Man, I’m a Psychic-type, yet I’m running like a peasant! Should’ve learnt Teleport or something… Wait—can I even learn that?!”

I do not know either.

Standing atop was a completely beige tree—like someone accidentally used the paint bucket tool whilst the lines were not fully closed—partially covered in the white of the snow. The triangle shape suggested that it was coniferous, dusted with perfectly round, bright blue berries like glittering ornaments on a ghostly holiday tree; it reminded me of an Aspear Berry tree. 

“Oh my Arceus, yes—again! Oran Berries! Jackpot!” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’m grabbing extra so don’t you worry! We gotta keep our health bars nice and healthy.”

He stuffed the berries into his bundle with the speed and intensity of children raiding a broken piñata on a birthday party, then ran down thereupon.

“Your waiter Ashen is heeere!” he exclaimed in a sing-songy tone. “Eat up!” He extended a berry toward me.

“Thanks,” I muttered. “But we should go now. Just eat while walking.”

This was surprisingly the first time I have eaten Oran Berries despite being apparently so vital here.

The berry was small, fitting easily in my three-clawed hand. Its surface was a rich, cerulean blue, spotted with deeper navy dots. At the top sat a green disk—not a leaf, exactly, but a smooth, flat circle with a second, slightly raised one at its center, like a button within a button. What is this…?

I bit into it, expecting it to taste pleasant, but I was dead wrong. The only good part that came out of it was the cold, unnervingly smooth, texture. But everything else was not so enjoyable.

It had every taste—bitter, spicy, and sour, with the kind of dryness that came with a green banana, all while conveniently leaving sweetness. I cannot even begin to describe the mixture of flavors. The closest I can get to is ginger with less pepperiness. This just proves that good medicine tastes bitter. I will have to get acclimatized to this if I want to survive here…

“Do you like eating this?”

“Yesn’t.”

“What.”

“It tastes horrible. Very. But I dunno. Holding it already makes me feel a little better. Like it means something. That you’ll get better soon. That someone cares and looks out for you. That you still have time to heal.”

“I… see. A similar case to the Yache Berries, then?”

“You could put it like that.”

Our shields shone. The penultimate one. Only thirty minutes or less left.

“Twenty three.”

“What? What?! C’mon, we gotta go!” He scurried away.

“Coming.”

But then, he came to a sudden halt, flapping his free arm as if he was about to fall.

“Careful…”

“I know—it’s just hard to see through all these cracks on our shields! But… what is this?!” He pointed ahead. I moved closer, then saw it.

A vast stretch of white—interrupted by jagged tears in the earth. Deep, dark, endless…

Crevasses. Dozens, or even more. Some were wide enough to swallow us whole, others tiny enough to be leapt over. I have read about these, but I have not met it directly yet.

There were islands of safety between them, sure—but they were thin, uncertain, and rimmed with frost.

The boundary shimmered just beyond it all. We are so close. Maybe even if we do not find the last shard… at least we will survive.

Ashen’s voice dropped. “We can’t go around, can we?”

“No,” I answered simply. “This series is far too wide. We must go forward.”

Chapter Text

This is not good. Are we able to traverse this in thirty minutes while also finding more flux shards?

I was the one who devised the pendulum plan—which by some miracle, worked—so I should be able to devise another.

“Let me think of something. It will be quick.”

“How do you come up with these ideas, buddy? You’re carrying this exploration. They’re so good…” He tucked a hand behind his back, idly. “Rhetorical, by the way.”

“…Yes.”

Of course, we need to go through the solid spaces between the fractures. They should be stable and pose no risk for us falling. However, they might secretly crumble beneath Ashen’s weight; I never understood how those work.

And for that reason, I have to find a way to test the stability of these gaps.

…

I can walk, but I can float too. If the ground beneath me collapses, I can just… start floating again—not sure if I have to retract my legs for that. This way, I will be able to find the safest route; this also applies to stepping over the smaller crevasses which just fit my maximum step length—and also hopefully his. Ashen can just… trail behind.

“I will take the lead,” I said, not looking back. “Just follow where I go.”

Ashen did not protest. Perhaps he knew it too.

I scanned the area ahead. It was hard to make out through the fissures on our shields; I think… that route could work. We should be done in about twenty minutes if nothing goes wrong.

He, of course, does not see as well as I do. Thus, I will have to guide him. How?

Do not tell me I have to…

I looked at my claws.

…Let it be so.

I extended my legs and walked over to Ashen, my right hand out—not for a handshake. Just a silent gesture, fingers open.

He blinked at it. “Oh…? Is this your admission of—”

“No. It is not for emotional purposes,” I retorted. “I do not know about you, but it seems that these… cracks will interfere with our vision. Therefore, I need you to stay adjacent to me—so that if you step erroneously, I will be able to pull you back in time. Call it… guidance.”

Ashen smiled anyway as he took it. “Mmhm. Totally not emotional.”

His hands were warm…

I did not dignify that with a response.

The first crevasse yawned just a few steps ahead. Not too wide—but the ice lining its edge gleamed far too smooth. Treacherous.

I pressed down on our first island with one ‘foot’, then my full weight; it held.

“We need to move quickly, but not recklessly,” I explained. “Stay close, but wait a bit after each of my steps. The ground might fall to pieces. You can not float like I do.”

So far this is looking so good. I need to focus and keep looking down at my feet. There is no room for missteps.

But—ugh, this gesture is deeply awkward. Not because of the emotional implications, but how it looks from the outside. This… brooding, pitch-black Mythical holding hands with this… glorified furnace dressed like a heroic knight from a children’s picture book.

Another one.

And another.

This is flowing smoothly, so far, until…

We reached this wide crevasse. This route led us to the midpoint of its sides. This should theoretically be able to be stepped over, even with its width. How… dubious. 

I neared the edge, planted one foot firmly, and shifted my weight forward.

Then—I stepped.

My right foot touched down on the other side. It held. But before I could lift the other—

The ice started cracking beneath. The ledge behind me gave out. My foot plummeted through a web of splintering ice, a dull thud echoing below.

“DO NOT GO ANY FARTHER,” I yelled firmly.

I snapped into hovering reflexively but I kept my legs extended. One was dangling mid-air, the other still planted forward, knees awkwardly bent.

I could not even move. Not without tipping.

Ashen stood behind me, still on the starting ledge.

He stared at me. “Ummm. Awkward…”

I held out a hand. “Do not jump yet.”

He looked down. “Yeah, no kidding.”

The crevasse, after that extension, is too wide to leap normally. In addition, he would need to jump well ahead of the shelf so as not to widen it even further.

But… he should be fast. Powerful, like the knight he is. I could add lift to help him.

“If you leap at full force,” I said, “I will keep flying forward. The momentum should carry you across.”

Ashen's eyes widened, nervous excitement building. “Ooh! This is gonna be fun!”

“Yes. Now go.”

He exhaled. “Okay, okay. Here goes nothing…!”

He took a step back, lowered his body, and launched himself into the air. I kicked off my planted foot as well and surged forward.

We both made it out, though I ended up hovering above another crevasse, leading to an odd landing.

“Uhh… more awkward.” Ashen giggled again.

I floated back on the ground. “Now come on.”

“We should do that more often.”

More walking around gaps.

Three crevasses passed. This is good. If we keep this up, we should be out in no time.

Ashen adjusted his grip slightly. I was honestly also uncomfortable with the way he held it, but could not care enough to fix it. Or… it was more out of me being worried I would cause him more unease.

Next, a narrow space between two splits. Just wide enough for one of us. We went sideways.

He almost walked into a crevasse. I pulled him away.

“Careful!” I warned.

“Phew… thanks, Cael. My heart skipped a beat once I realized there was nothing under.” A tense smile tugged at his face.

We pressed on.

This is the most any Darkrai has used their legs for. Probably.

We ended up at the center of another crevasse. This one was barely the width of my step. Good.

How many have we traveled by? I would gauge five. Or maybe four? Or six? It is hard to tell when all you are focusing on are your legs alongside the ground and not your surroundings.

There was a sliver of pale ice stretched between the two fractured edges. Thin, slightly concave, but seemingly intact. A… snow bridge?

I walked closer, extending one leg then shifting my weight forward.

But then—snap. The ice beneath me split.

My chest seized. A jolt shot through me like I had been struck by lightning. My breath caught. I barely registered myself activating my floating abilities again.

“Turn around,” I called curtly. “This is unstable.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard that.”

We found another path—circling around the crevasse’s mouth. It was wider than I thought. I kept my eyes locked downward, because I could be the reason for his downfall.

I vaguely remember seeing something glinting a coffee brown hue for a half second. Too bad I did not know what it was… I just hope it was not a flux shard. Who knows if we do not find any anymore?

I wonder how these toothpick legs of mine will handle this amount of physical exertion.

My legs had stopped hurting, but only because they probably had gone numb. The motion every time we encountered some sort of danger had become automatic—plant, push, float, land, repeat.

The other side feels like it is within the reach of my arms. I must keep going.

After going around, I saw something twinkling. Barely visible. Deep between a narrow fault.

Phew. Our mission is almost complete. Even if that were two more shards, it does not matter too much now that we have this.

“Look over there. I think those are the last shards.” I turned to Ashen. “Hearken to me. First, let go of me. Next, back off to a safer position. Finally, use Fire Spin to melt the edge—just enough for me to go down there. Understood?”

He nodded and let me go, hesitantly. “Okay. Be careful.”

“Hmph. Says you.”

He merged his pauldrons into the cannon and fired a spiral of flame circling the lip of the crevasse. The snow hissed and the frost curled back. Slush slid off the edges in chunks.

I drifted closer. The gap now widened just enough. I could slide through without grazing either side.

“I will retrieve it. Remain where you are.”

I slipped through the opening. Even after this, it was still narrow, barely wide enough for my shoulders. The tatters can not even roll properly anymore.

The shards were protruding out of a slight bump on the wall of ice. I reached out and snatched it.

Afterwards… I heard a rumble echoing above.

A thick slab of ice, not quite finished melting, darkened from soot and melt, broke loose from the lip Ashen had scorched. A faultline had split it clean across. It teetered, then plummeted… straight toward me.

I surged sideways, one arm clutching the pair tight to my chest—but it was too fast. I could feel its impact against the shield. At once, it shattered with a sharp, glassy snap.

My skin prickled as the sheer cold hit me full-force. It was not just freezing. It was deathly. My quivers were unmanageable. Again, my cold tolerance has never been the best.

“CAEL!” Ashen shouted from above.

Thankfully enough, my vision returned to normal; I did not have to see through what felt like broken glass anymore. Furthermore… the impact was not hard enough to make me lose balance. I hovered up shakily, but steadily. All of my breaths were fogging… Not that I am sure whether Darkrai breathed from their mouths, noses, both, or something else entirely; I have not been able to deduce the presence of a nose.

I crossed my arms—classic—for negligible extra heat and floated up. My legs were already tucked back in.

My body felt like it just wanted to give out, rejecting the idea of motion. once I reached the top. I do not have nearly enough energy to keep shivering… Each second without the shield made the ache sink deeper into my bones.

“I— a…m f-fine,” I lied, shaking uncontrollably, breathless.

While there were some positive aspects, I was really not.

Ashen just stood there, a worried expression drawn across his face. “No you're not! Your shield…! It broke…”

“I… hhh… know.” My voice trembled. Not from fear—just… cold. So I told myself. I am fear incarnate, am I not?

His eyes were huge, unspoken guilt brimming in them as he stared at me, levitating slowly towards him.

I entered his shield. I suppose I am back to having to see through fragmented, scattered light… but there are more pressing matters at present.

I thrust the shards toward him with a trembling hand. “H… here.”

He took it with amazement. His fingers brushed mine.

“…Your hand’s freezing,” he said softly.

“M-my en…— tire body issss…” It would have came out much more distant were I not trembling.

He did not insert it into his bindle, but kept holding onto it, looking at his clenched palm. After that, he… moved close.

I could not react. He then pressed up beside me, gently, a warm presence at my side. His arm curved behind my back. Not quite a hug, but something resembling it.

“Here. Just accept it, okay?” he murmured. “I don't want you freezing to death just to prove a point.”

“I… was not-t trying to.”

“Exactly. C'mon, I think we'll reach the other side pretty soon. There doesn't seem to be any dangerous parts anymore.”

“Make sure you do not… slip like that again.”

We walked like that. Or rather—he walked. I floated, shoulder brushing against his armor.

Being a Fire-type, he radiated heat like a slow-burning fire, one I tried not to lean into more than I had to. Contact like this was weird, although at least the intensity of my shivering started diminishing.

Even though I was technically inside the boundaries of his shield, the frigid air felt just as clear. My breaths were still turning into mist inside it. It is worth mentioning how protection against weather only works for the wearer. I am not sure how it works for solid hazards such as those, though.

His hands were not holding anything anymore. I assume he has packed the shards. Done for now, but still a lot more to go…

“Heya, uh… I'm sorry, really sorry ‘bout that. I should've made sure there weren't any loose parts before stopping.” His eyelids dragged downward in worry.

“Do not worry about it.”

“Also… sorry too for not grabbing more Aspear Berries. I'm sure you know what it does, and I dunno if it helps reduce shivering, but I still wish I had.” He fluttered his eyes repeatedly after that. “Wait—do you want the single one I plucked from the tree? I still have it.”

“No. I said I am fine. We are nearing the end anyway. I can manage.”

“You always say that—but I know you aren't, Cael.”

“Sure…”

“I can't imagine how cold it must be for you. Well, yeah… temperature-wise, shields only apply to one person at a time. Sorry.”

How many times has he said sorry?

“Of course you can not. You still have yours. And that much I figured.

“Is my heat helping, though? Do you want me to hurry up?”

“Yes. After all, it is characteristic of a Fire-type. And yes, again. Before your own breaks. I think we only have… five minutes left; I should mention, I am just guessing.”

“Uh, huh, good…—Wait, what?! Ah… I'm tired too. But alright. We're out of the crevasse-y area, so buckle up, I guess. Time to go super fast!”

He started running, bringing me along. It was slower than I expected. I did not have to put much effort to keep up—since floating meant you just move according to the direction of the force acting upon you unless you actively resist. What I thought was a disadvantage could also be an advantage, I suppose. How fascinating.

“Okay, we're almost out. One, two, three!”

Once we crossed the boundary…

Everything flashed white. The burst engulfed everything. I could not see. I could not hear. Just this sharp, piercing ring in my skull. Is this what being born feels like…? Though—Pokémon hatch from eggs. Whatever.

And then, just as suddenly, my vision returned to normal. The cold decreased and wind returned alongside the crackle of a familiar campfire—the one we stayed around prior to entering the zone; it was still there. My body felt… loose and I got a minor headache from everything.

We were out.

“Hoo-ray! We are out, Cael! And we got everything we needed too! Mission success!” he exclaimed. His body felt hotter than last time, and his shield was also gone.

I mumbled, “Mm… yeah. Congratulations to us, I suppose. Also, you can let go of me now.”

Ashen let go of my back with a flop. “Oh… mmyeah…” He stumbled backwards, half-sitting on the ground. “I’m gonna be honest… I feel like my bones turned into slush. But like, the hot kind of slush. Y’know?”

“No.”

“Well, you’re missing out,” he wheezed.

“I genuinely do not understand what you are attempting to convey.”

Okay, I take that back. Even while retracted, my legs are starting to burn. Ouch. Expected from toothpicks.

I accidentally let a slurping hiss escape; the sound is quite hard to describe, but it is the kind you make when you are in pain. Oh dear.

“You were saying…? Clearly, you know how it feels.” His eyes pinched into happy arcs. It felt like smugness instead though, for some reason.

“No. I do not. It is… different from what you described. It feels solid. Like it should be. How could one’s bones—made exactly to be a strong supporting pillar—even feel slushy—” I cut myself off, then harrumphed. “If we are done discussing our internal viscosity, then I would advise we keep moving.”

He was titering, too engrossed with himself to look at me.

“Do you hear me?”

“Oh? Oh, yes, of course! Heh…”

“Also, I gotta say something. Dude. We just survived that bizarre opening and closing ravine, that one icicle spear hail, that weird semi-sentient snowdrift, the worst blizzard in possibly forever, and crossed an entire crevasse field—let me know if I missed any—all while walking almost non-stop for almost half a day. Or what would be so if time still ran. Can’t we please rest for, like, ten minutes?”

“I am thinking about it.”

“Say yes.”

“Too bad it is opposite day.”

“Wha—”

It was a bad joke that only makes sense in the slightest. His response was understandable.

“Can you walk while sleeping?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Here. Let me show you. You just need to rest your arm around my collar like you just did.” I gestured to the red spiky ridge around my neck. “And just… allow your legs to move naturally while I guide you. Not sure if I can do so with your weight, but it is worth a try.”

“Wait—what?” His voice broke on the second syllable. “You want me to sleepwalk?”

“Yes. If you are capable. This method would ensure maximum efficiency. We must head back to town.”

“…Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“But I can’t autopilot on empty. What ‘bout me?”

“Well… if you are relaxed—even if not fully unconscious—it would still count as rest, would it not? Close your eyes, keep walking. I will take care of the rest.”

“Why are you like this?” he asked in the flattest tone I have heard from him. It carried the energy of a statement more than a question.

“For one, I do not want to be pummeled by more of my nightmares,” I said plainly. “And two, again—I am a Darkrai. I should be able to withstand a little sleep deprivation.”

He looked away, assessing the situation.

“Y’know what… Alright, screw it. I’m too tired to argue. Don’t forget to wake me up when we arrive. And also, don’t make the nightmares too bad, please.”

“No promises.”

He stumbled over, and I floated way lower than usual—just enough for him to drape an arm lazily over my collar from my left—careful not to let my… sk— cloak—drag across the ground. I have just noticed that we were exactly the same height. Interesting.

I wanted to extend my legs for extra support… but they were far too exhausted. Besides, I would be way too tall for him to comfortably lean on me if I did. Same height only applies when they are retracted. Regardless, I am still technically higher since I float.

“Oh, hey,” he mumbled sleepily, already leaning into me. “Warm.”

“Sure. That probably comes from your body. And, let me hold onto that…” I opened his hand and snatched his bindle with my right hand.

“Oh, right. Ah… colder than an Ice-type,” he maffled. “You're so tall.”

“I have levitated lower so you do not need to raise your arm that much to wrap it around me,” I explained. I would say I am only about… two inches from the ground. Normally, I am three—or more—higher than that.

“Incidentally, Would you like me to use Hypnosis on you again? So you will be able to… fall asleep quicker.”

“Huh…? Wait—NO. Nuh-uh. No more surprise sleep spells, please. I’m not getting knocked out mid-sentence again.”

“…That was one time. Besides, this time, it will not be much of a surprise.”

“One time is still too many.”

“…Too bad.”

“WAIT—CAEL—!”

“Efficiency. Sorry. Not really.”

I raised a palm, and started channeling my energy into it. There was the familiar light blue outline again. Dim, pulsing rings—filled with soft energy of the same color as my hands—began to ripple outward, one after another, their rhythm perfectly even, disappearing into Ashen’s body.

“_{Shh… Sleep. It will be alright,}” I whispered.

“Why… Ugh…”

And the world quieted with him, eyes fluttering shut. He had already fallen asleep.

His body slackened against me—he was heavier than previously, yet not entirely limp. I had to put extra force into my levitation to keep ourselves from collapsing.

I adjusted my posture slightly, enough for him to rest against my shoulder at the correct angle.

“Good. Now then… just move,” I muttered, more to myself.

I began to float forward, and finally… his legs started responding. It was clumsy—like a puppet with wobbly strings.

Curious, truly. His body was mimicking mine, falling into pace. I did not know bodies could do this.

Now, I just have to make it work. It is all on me. Again.

I sighed. This will be a long walk. I will be alone with my thoughts once more, with no source of entertainment. I do not even know if I will be able to endure his weight until the destination…

But I am not a human anymore now. I should be stronger than that.

Well, let us retreat to our mental realm first, then. I will save… the other thing for later.

What should I dwell on now?

Perchance the overall trip through the zone. Yes.

We survived. Somehow.

I guess it is a good thing—howbeit, I am not feeling especially glad right now, for some reason. Just… indifferent.

That already suggests that… I did not really put much effort into surviving. There was no heroic will to live involved. Not through skill, power, nor precision. Not through strategy—although I tried. Not through courage—except for maybe Ashen. So… it was probably just chance. Nothing else; we got lucky.

Lucky that not enough disasters struck us for the shields to break prematurely—mine did so only at the very end. Lucky that being a Darkrai came with the ability to fly and also walk simultaneously. Lucky that all the items ‘spawned’ at the locations it did, that they were what they were, and that I managed to spot them; that Warp Orb really came in clutch.

What if we got something else more useless? That snow tornado would have caused enough damage for our shields not to be able to endure the last blizzard. What if the berries we found were not what we needed for Corven? What if all of them were mere Lum or Oran Berries?

It was never about brilliance. All those plans I made… They did not guarantee anything. Did they even really help?

We… ‘joked’. I thought. And that… stalled us. I wasted too much time rambling, overanalyzing. Too much. I let my guard down to talk about biology, about stars—which literally are not visible here and will not ever be if we do not succeed. 

I made a deal about a simple gesture, of all things. I made a deal about some inconsequential gem, of all things. I made a deal about words, of all things. Not one, but two words in total, so far—which are seen as compliments by everybody else—except me. How… indulgent. And distracting. Nonetheless, I am still alive. The world still thought I deserved to live. Why—to both of those?

Was I that bored, or was it tactical dissociation—to avoid the moment?

Sentiment never saves. It only diverts your focus on what is important. I should have known better. And I will, moving forward.

The shields were interesting. They were helpful; see how I am using it for objects? They were neat. But they are timed and still breakable. Every crack and—most especially—every glow, reminded us that we were timed.

Now, onto the highlights. The worst part? Easily the crevasse field. Not only was it already quite hard to see with the fissures covering the shield, I had to guide him—watch both his and my footing and think ten steps ahead just to above death, all while panic clawed at my chest.

And when the ice collapsed under me, slipped, and destroyed my shield… that was the only moment that felt real. Because I could finally feel the true, unfiltered wintry air around me. I somehow felt relief during that moment too; I could finally see normally again. Is that not pathetic?

Moreover, it was easier to brace for pain when you have nothing to guard anymore. What else is there to lose…?

However, thereupon—Ashen was still there. He saved me… again. I would not have escaped death if it were not for him—including, admittedly, death from boredom.

He was… reckless, albeit brave. He was loud and talked too much, yet knew when to stop, knew how much was enough to fill in the uncomfortable silence. He did his share of stupid, but he pulled through when it mattered. All of those make him… valuable, really.

Functionally.

Still, this was just one problem. There will be more. I believe that… survival is not success—only a pause between disasters—which adds to my unconcern. I am still the same. I survived one trial, so what…?

There are still ten thousand more. Until we find what we are looking for. Until we reach the end. Until we accomplish our grand objective: to restore the world.

And that will take fortune, too.

But what shall I do next?

To recap… my plan goes thus: go to town and avoid attracting as much attention as possible—somehow, get to Corven's place inconspicuously and finish trading, maybe ask if he also has note-taking supplies, and then we reach a split.

If he generously accepts our Lum Berry and whatever else Ashen has, we immediately head to the town's local library—if there even is one and assuming Ashen knows of its location, then find clues about the world to decide our next move. If not, hopefully we can find Mederry again, then finally, try asking for the same thing again.

Now, onto the next thing on my schedule.

I gazed ahead again. We were still on the way. Terrific. Gleisien town is not visible yet.

I flicked my eyes—or in this case, ‘eye’—toward Ashen.

My posture is skewed to the left. Of course—there is an entire Armarouge slouched against me. Am I going to get scoliosis soon? I should be fatigued.

Strangely… I am not. That could either be worrying or in my favor. Perhaps not enough time has passed for the effects to kick in—or the opposite: I am so exhausted that the strain has become muted, numbed. Alternatively, it could also be the result of… what I am now. Maybe enhanced endurance is one of the advantages of being a Mythical Pokémon.

Back to the snoozing person.

His brow is already pinched. Unease. Discontent. Subtle, but there.

This is like the last time I put him to sleep using Hypnosis, and unlike the time we camped right outside the zone—the change is immediate. I have been watching him for approximately ten minutes—both now, and then.

So I think… I know this. I know the pattern.

That means Bad Dreams likely does not trigger nightmares across all stages of sleep. Only REM. And artificially-induced sleep must… bypass the rest. Straight into it, like a forced drop.

I wonder… does my ability make that stage last longer, too? Stretch it out? Turn minutes into something far worse? I need more data.

If I recall from the human world, REM lasts ten minutes at first—maybe an hour at the final cycle. So if his expression stays unchanged past that time… then perhaps, yes. Bad Dreams interacts with it.

And also… who named this ability ‘Bad Dreams’ and not ‘Nightmares’? Although—in retrospect, perhaps that makes it easier to distinguish between the noun and the ability. Capitalization only does so much for some.

Still… the idea that I might trap someone in a dream state longer than they should be—that my very presence drags them deeper—how… charming.

Ah… how I panicked—scrambled last time. Grabbed his armor, shook him vigorously and yelled his name like a madman. A fond memory. I thought he would never wake up. I thought… I would kill him. I thought I had. 

However, now I know that it is not… so bad now.

Then, I heard a… whimper . The sound hit me just as I realized it did.

…

Okay.

It was faint and choked. One of those sounds that leaks out when the mind is not shielding itself.

It came from Ashen, curled beside me. Part of me found it… oddly endearing. Though that was exactly by the time that I realized that it must be due to Bad Dreams.

He whimpered again—pressing tighter onto my side like his body believed I would somehow comfort him… when I am behind all of this. How curious.

Why… Why would he—why would anyone? Does he not realize? I am the reason his rest is unsafe. My presence twists his dreams. And still… he leans in?

He trusts the ruler of nightmares; mayhaps, he even knows and still chooses to stay… Does he feel safer near me… or is he just tired? Sleeping so close and all… Is this just how he normally acts? Did he do this with others in aforetime? Do I want this…?

His weight on my shoulder feels grounding. Like many other things he has done to me. And in all of those times… I cannot place why the comfort feels familiar.

But maybe… it is a mistake.

He looks fragile like this. Small. Vulnerable. His plume is billowing more slowly now. Like all fire—like everyone, he is weaker when asleep.

(Look how soft he is.)

Yes. Somehow… it is appealing to me. My core is humming. Something deep within me is stirring. Why…?

(Look at what you are. Were you not made for this?)

Me?

It does… make sense. But I do not want to feed. I do not think I have the urge to; it is not like… I am going to go out of my way just to cause this, to see this happen, to relish in it. Yet, I like this. Seeing him break a little—then get back up again.

Riveting—inspiring, truly. I just want to… savor it while it lasts.

He let out another low, unconscious cry. Ah… biology. How the body must release the tension through these raw sounds. How it cannot be held back.

…

Is this entirely because I am a Darkrai? Is this what they are made for? To be feared, to exploit the vulnerable?

Ashen’s words linger in my mind to this very second. That I have a ‘big heart’, that ‘everyone is going to see me as a hero’, that I am ‘cool and nice’, even ‘nicer than I look’…

Thus, that cannot be, right? What would it mean for all members of a species to act the same?

Still, heroes would not break the exact people who trust them.

Perhaps—it is more about how I finally feel more significant than someone else, not trifling. It feels like something I have been craving, yet so foreign at the same time.

I feel… monstrous. Part of me wants to hold him, and part of me just wants to see if he will keep leaning in.

I wish those words meant something at this very moment. My ability is uncontrollable; after all, it is passive.

Even when I want to help, I hurt.

Even when I care… I cause harm.

Wait—care causing harm? I feel like I know that phrase… all too well. Why?

But no… it is not my care causing harm. This time, they exist as two separate things.

Sigh.

I wish I could do something. But I can not. I should push him off, shake him and wake him up out of his suffering, but… he needs rest—if it even matters with a quality like this. I am not sure if no rest is better than some—albeit abysmal rest. Still, he would just… fall asleep right after anyway, right?

Maybe I just need to… accommodate this. Not move away. And… be the shield he thinks I am. Even if I am failing right now. Just to keep the illusion alive. Or I could…

I slung an arm around his back—at last, and scooted c— no. He is just starting to slide. And I did a minor shift to prevent that. Yes. That is all it is.

What have I been doing with my arms this entire time anyway? I… have not used them. At all.

I wish I could be something else. Something still just as powerful—that earns respect by not warping rest into pain. That earns reverence through whatever other method that is not as dubious as mine.

He must be able to bear this like he usually does. He has to. He should. I know it. I think—I hope.

I am starting to feel drowsy too… I need to focus on the road. Yet… my eye keeps drifting left.

Wait—I think it has been more than ten minutes; he still seems agitated. I think I might have missed even more sniffles from him while I was zoning out. Who knows.

That whole thing I just did—those thoughts, those reflections—could not have been less than that. Even without a timer, I am certain. So… abnormal must mean his sleeping pattern is irregular. Whether it is just his quirk or Bad Dreams disturbing the sleep cycle, I do not know—but I am inclined to believe the latter.

Bad Dreams does interact with REM sleep. In addition to being able to trigger only during said stage, it also actively prolongs it.

By how much…? That, I am uncertain of. But if this lasts until the end of the road—then the multiplier must be extreme, or… it does not only draw it out, but makes it last as long as he sleeps. That is… cruel. Can he even recover at all, like that? I just hope it will not be too much of a liability in the future. He must adapt—but please do not become fully immune.

Anyways, speaking of observing, deducing, and the fine art of studying… I wonder what I could learn from Ashen.

…I have not been very good in terms of describing people’s personality clearly—but I will try. Why is psychology so mystifying?

Hmm…

What is most prominent about him… is his cheerfulness. That bright, foolish, relentless cheerfulness.

Even when I am being difficult—when I shut him down or draw lines impulsively—he never lashes out, never bristles, never recoils, only sulking for a bit, before nodding and smiling again—as though nothing awkward ever happened. As if I did not just reset any progress we have made in terms of bonding; at least that is what I worry about.

Even after his words accidentally stumble and darken the air, or when I darken it myself with my spiraling and accusations, even after a near-death experience, in the middle of danger—the entire flux zone—he still joked. Still teased. Still reached out. Somehow he is able to redirect it, catching the tone that I miss very easily. It works on me every time… I think. I do not understand how nor why.

I assumed he was naïve. He still feels like he is. He should be irritated with me by now. Any other person would be. But him? Somehow, he makes it feel like… none of it matters. Or maybe he notices it and just… decides not to hold it. I believe he does. Like an ever-glowing lantern. Like he was built to feel. Though… he only chooses joy.

I do not know what to make of that. Is that… emotional ignorance? Or the opposite of that—a strength I do not possess?

If he were to experience something like this—what I carry—would he laugh through it, too? Would it break him anyway? Would he hide it better? Or handle it better? He just seems so… innocent—yet too emotionally intelligent for that to be true. His instincts are sharp. He says the right things even when I cannot explain what’s wrong. 

Maybe he already has. Where would such intelligence come from, after all?

Either way… it’s a kind of emotional strength I cannot wrap my head around. A power that does not register as power until you see someone else bend under what he shrugs off like snow from his shoulders.

Are there situations even he cannot soften?

I would like to find out, but another part of me hopes I never do.

The wind is still blowing incessantly. How long until we reach the town, again?

Last time we took two hours and a half to reach the flux zone, no? Or was it a quarter? Regardless, it is still more than two hours.

This is a complete guess… but I think I have gone on for about forty minutes. Considering the fact that I must be slowed down guiding Ashen like this, we might even only reach Gleisien town in three hours.

This means I have two more hours to go.

Damn it.

Time passes slower when you are alone with your thoughts. Last time we went to the zone, I had Ashen around. And there were not so many things to think about.

So now… what else am I supposed to do other than cogitate some more? There are still a lot more I can comment on regarding Ashen.

“Non… Pars pas…”“No… Don’t leave…”" he murmured in his sleep. I think I can feel his breathing against me. I wonder what kind of nightmares he is having… Who is leaving him?

He does not shield these involuntary unconscious responses—not that I know whether he could or not. He does not pretend he is not hurting. 

He does not seem ashamed of something so soft, honest… Is it bravery?

Still, it is strange.

He reacts and gets defensive when confronted. Yet, even if he dodges accountability, he will still admit when he does something wrong in the end. He owns up to his mistakes and reveals all the thoughts—the feelings—that went behind it. He facilely tells when he feels uncomfortable about something.

There is no performance. No polished mask. Just Ashen, as if sincerity was something he was born—or hatched, in this case—knowing how to wield. But that still does not feel accurate.

Is his joy genuine or something he forces to cover his underlying feelings? I can not know that for sure.

Mayhaps… that is the catch; he acts genuinely only if it is something I already know.

He lets me witness what I can see. He reacts to what is already inferable. But everything else—what happened to him up until our meeting, what shaped his ability to smile through fire and keep laughing inside a storm—those are still shrouded. Held close. Hidden.

But I do not know. I have never been good at hiding my feelings after all, right?

He clearly has the ability to do better. That raises the question, why does he not try harder to conceal everything?

He just lets stifled whimpers come out naturally in this way. Even leans in closer. He just follows me when I lay out a plan. He offers warmth and support without hesitation. At times, it transpires to be an unintentional lie.

Does he not assume that moments of weakness like this will be punished?

Well… I am not sure what one would be punished by either. But it simply feels mortifying. Extremely. For some reason. To just smile. Am I being irrational? What kind of condition would even lead to this?

I have only established that he must have gone through something back then. I remember what he said previously.

‘Make your own fun […] or you will get existential dread.’

It could be connected. I can see how. Albeit… I do not understand it; it is too abstract. Unable to be put into words. Just an image existing in my mind.

But, hold on—if he trusts me like so, then it might not be an error at all, considering his… complex emotional understanding. That being so, he has to see something in me, albeit… what?

Is it just for what I am? My power? Me being a Mythical Pokémon? A Darkrai? That seems understandable, though improbable. Someone astute such as him would not pick such a shallow, short-sighted reasoning like this. Power alone does not guarantee safety. In fact… that is what drives forces of evil. The very reason. The very foundation.

Consequently—it must be for who I am. He must be very courageous to assume that whatever he sees in me is true. Still… I cannot pinpoint the why. Not when I do not know who I am… at least, yet. I cannot possibly—and perhaps do not wish to—recollect every single compliment he has given me; sometimes knowledge is dangerous. There is risk in unsealing something tightly shut.

But what if it is something worth finding?

I value knowledge—clarity, precision. I believe in the pursuit of truth. I am not avoiding it for lack of conviction. It is just that when the subject is myself… I lack the framework to view it objectively. To understand what I discover. I do not know how to carry it without collapsing under its weight.

Can he even help me with that? For being someone so shrewd.

Maybe, maybe not.

I still hear the crunch of the dirt below in his footsteps. The descending path ahead was as dull as ever.

I wonder how floating works on slanted surfaces. Is my body not straight?

…

Never mind. I am also leaning forward slightly. Cool. Maybe I did not register this earlier since my eyes also gazed parallel to the angle. That is what I usually did as a human, anyway.

Wait—how long has it been now? The last time I marked the time, I suspected forty minutes. Now… it should be a little more than one hour.

He mumbled something indistinct. If normally it would only be ten minutes, then… this means Bad Dreams must stretch the length of REM sleep by at least eight times. Could it be more…?

Would the effects weaken if I distance myself from him? I assume yes—since not everyone sleeping in the world is having a nightmare, it must have a range. I wish there was a way to figure out; this is why research papers are important…!

If I distance myself from him, would the effects weaken? I wish I could right now, but I still have to guide him. Maybe we could arrange something when he is awake again.

Please… I hope his body recovers—no matter how small—in spite of everything. I just do not want him to break.

Why does time pass so slowly when you are alone? Why.

A bit less than two hours left. Or possibly more. This is insufferable.

You know what? Fine. I am growing drained from thinking anyway. I can not keep doing this.

I will just empty my mind—if I can even do that—and really feel the world around me, for once. There is not much else to say anyway, is there? Well—maybe, just maybe—there is, although… this is too much processing for now.

Hopefully time will pass faster this way. This will require less effort anyway. But I also hope I do not fall asleep due to the lack of stimulation.

Observing cannot not be the only thing I can do; not when there is nothing to observe.

Hm.

The trees—or more accurately— dead trees… Maybe I can count how many we pass.

(But wouldn't that be like counting sheep? Whose entire purpose is to help you fall asleep?)

Whatever.

One, two.

It is quite sparse here.

Three trees . Ha.

Four.

I have to look both ways if I want to count accurately.

Five.

I can take it slow.

Six.

What if I floated faster? Would he be able to keep up with me?

Seven, eight. Insert ‘ding’ sound.

Should I try it?

Nine.

That would definitely make reaching the town faster.

Ten.

However, we are on a slope. Would he tumble down if we did?

Eleven, twelve.

I would not have any energy left at the town and would instead fall asleep if I did. Probably.

Thirteen.

The branches are bare. Obvious.

Fourteen, fifteen.

One of them had a twig that dangled steadily like it was never going to break off.

Sixteen, seventeen.

Probably an effect of the time loop.

Eighteen.

According to what he expounded upon, if you break it off, it will fall endlessly.

Nineteen, twenty.

Am I the only one who writes it in number form after twenty?

21.

I simply like not having to use so many hyphens. Shorter to visualize and think.

22.

Numbers start becoming hyphenated after twenty.

23.

I would spell out thirty, forty—and so on, but I am counting. The format should stay consistent.

24.

That almost-perfectly straight branch is interesting.

25.

Actually, not really.

26.

What are the odds, actually?

27.

Some of the bigger ones have their roots jut out.

28.

Why did these trees die?

29.

Did they slowly die or was it an instant extinction after the Catastrophe?

30, 31.

The former makes sense considering the absence of a visible sun.

32.

But then, why did the skies decide to become overcast henceforth anyway?

33.

It seems like something the Catastrophe directly induced.

34.

Makes for a perfect post-apocalyptic world, I suppose.

35.

The bark peels off like old paper. Some of the trees look wetter than others—

Hang on.

36, 37.

My last explanation does not make sense.

38.

If time stopped and looped, then theoretically, the trees could not have died.

39, 40.

They would have lived perpetually, unchanging.

41.

Accordingly, the Catastrophe must have somehow affected that too.

42.

But how…?

43.

Could someone like him know?

44.

I feel like he shifted in his sleep.

45.

That one has an eccentric hole in it. Its insides are presumably empty.

46.

How long has it been since the Catastrophe anyway?

47.

Our exploration of the zone just proved how scarce the resources were.

48.

For a 12-hour journey—one seed, one orb, two miscellaneous items, one throwing item excluding Geo—

49.

—Pebbles and Sticks, one type of vitamin ore, one natural held item, and five kinds of berry trees in total—

50, 51.

—seem measly. Or not. I have no other data to compare it too. How much loot would anyone in the past find in a mystery dungeon anyway?

52, 53.

And another one. Wait, was that 52? Did I count twice too?

Not important.

54, 55.

The dead trees keeping their moisture could be logical.

56.

There is no sun to evaporate them.

57.

Besides, again, time loops.

58.

In accordance with that, the water would return if it were to somehow dry out.

59.

Does water even evaporate in a place as cold as this?

60.

I mean, it is windy.

61.

Wind is dry, is it not?

62.

This one looks familiar.

63.

Am I looping…? Is the space outside of the zone also distorted?

64.

No. I am just tired.

65.

Who would not be at such a monotonous activity like this?

66.

Hold on—if all plant life is dead, then where is the oxygen coming from?

67.

I do know that on my Earth, most of them are sourced from algae.

68.

But algae would also be dead now. 

69.

Insert commemorative interruption on the ‘funny number’.

70.

It is not. Really… For me, at least.

71.

Back to the main topic; I do not recall them being explicitly mentioned to exist here either.

72.

Plus, if they did, they would have also perished anyway. Nor do I recall a Pokémon based on algae.

73.

Even Grass-type Pokémon would not be able to photosynthesize.

74.

I genuinely do not get it.

75.

Does this imply Pokémon are able to breathe something else?

76.

Or that trees do not produce oxygen here?

77.

Or that the atmospheric component is different?

78.

Where the ratio between nitrogen and oxygen is swapped?

79.

Or are we just breathing the leftover oxygen pre-Catastrophe?

80.

What am I even saying?

81.

Well, if that were true, it will run out eventually…

82.

How long will it take?

83.

I cannot possibly calculate that.

84.

Wait… mayhaps, it is related to time looping.

85.

After our bodies consume oxygen, it is replenished.

86.

I do not understand how that would work.

87.

If that were true, would oxygen not multiply?

88.

For life to be sustained, the ratio cannot switch places.

89.

And if Pokémon did not breathe oxygen, trees and algae would be utterly useless.

90.

Something else must be the case.

91.

Oxygen does not turn into ATP in respiration, yes?

92.

Then that means if the oxygen was looped we would not lose ATP. Technically.

93.

Oxygen becomes part of CO₂ and H₂O.

94.

We exhale them out. It becomes part of the air.

95.

Air is being looped. So that means it will disappear, no?

96.

In the simplest way I can put it, it is akin to overwriting your current savestate by loading an antecedent one.

97.

If not, it would lead to dire consequences caused by the increase of atmospheric pressure and mass.

98.

Is he sweating?

99.

Oh yeah, he is.

100.

And here we have another celebratory intervention for our first hundred mark.

101.

I will temporarily stop swaddling my arm around him to wipe it off.

102.

Subsequently, I did. With my middle claw.

103.

Hm… I rubbed it against my ‘thumb’.

104.

What is Pokémon sweat made of?

105.

I wonder why I never bothered to inspect my own.

106.

The same as humans?

107.

If only I had a microscope. Or indicating reagents.

108.

Although… this sample would probably not be enough.

109.

Do the contents of each Pokemon’s sweat vary with species?

110.

Oh. It is already gone. Presumably evaporated.

111.

I suppose the time loop does not apply to secretions nor excretions.

112.

Is sound considered matter?

113.

It does not seem to loop.

114.

Probably not. They are just… vibrations in the air.

115.

But it still can be looped like echoes do.

116.

I wonder why they do not.

117.

Perhaps it is because… they come from the body. Just like the other things I have ruled out do.

118, 119.

If we exhale carbon dioxide, and it disappears, then what would that entail?

120.

In terms of the greenhouse effect.

121.

Is heat looped as well?

122.

Clouds trap heat. The sky is eternally overcast. For that reason, it should be sweltering here.

123, 124.

But it is not.

125.

My suspicions are confirmed.

126.

Without a day-night cycle, the rotation must be looped as well.

127.

Remarkable that we do not feel it.

128.

I am running out of things to talk about. How many more are there to go?

129.

So tired. So bored.

130.

Should I stop counting?

131.

Trees are dead. They are dead. Dead trees.

132.

Dead…

133.

Dead…

134.

How do Pokémon even die?

135.

Dying of old age is not possible.

136.

But then, what kind of diseases could affect Pokémon?

136— 137.

That has never been clearly established, unless I am missing something.

138.

Which I might very well have considering how hot my brain is right now.

139.

I suppose non-infectious diseases could still apply here. Why would they not?

140.

But how would they?

141.

I… What?

142.

Are Mythical Pokémon like me immortal?

143.

Have I asked that afore?

144.

Help. Help. Or something.

145.

I said I would void my brain of thoughts but I somehow ended up back here.

146.

I was initially only observing. Describing what I see.

147.

And it somehow led to biochemistry. All because trees are biological beings.

148.

I might observe air and start thinking about chemistry. And also physics.

149.

Thus, I should just count.

150.

No more observations.

151.

Just float.

…

163…

I yawned. Even something as mythical as me is affected by such biological processes. Mmm…

…182…

Crooked finger, heh— no. Focus.

…196…

Which one of these would be a cranky Glalie who throws snowballs at Snorunt?

…203…

They look like claws. Cool. What about my—

There is no space for sidetracking.

…214…

Did I miss anything?

…226…

I am fond of biology. I also loathe the pitifulness of biological beings.

Are we…?

…239…

This was not as dense as I would have thought. I would be doomed if I had to count somewhere actually heavily forested.

…250…

Yay… fifty times five. I have a taste for math. But I abhor math.

…254.

Wait, wait, wait… Is that the town I see?

255.

A classic, medieval European town… This must be it; it cannot be anything else, unless I somehow deviated from the path.

256, 257.

The slope gradually eased into a flat road. The arch is just ahead. I need to wake him up in advance of entering town. No… no more counting for now.

250— no.

We have arrived.

Chapter Text

I fluttered my eyes repeatedly to hopefully refresh my mind. I need to find a place where we can work something out without being noticed by the townspeople, though… there does not seem to be anything that would cover both of us entirely. The best I could locate was this… tree with a trunk slightly wider than the rest.

I set our supplies and laid him against the bark.

“Wake up,” I called out.

I stared. There was no response. Even after I poked his cheek.

“Wake up,” I repeated, more sinisterly.

Ashen groaned like a spoiled prince. He straightened his head and lifted his eyes lowly. He visibly looks tired, plume undulating just as slow as it always did.

“What’s… going on?” he croaked.

“You slept. We have arrived just outside of town now,” I informed.

“…Cael? Still here? You…” he started ere musing incoherently.

“What.”

“Hah… I knew you would’ve been able to do it.”

I shook him, holding what would be his shoulders. “Wake up. There are pressing matters waiting to be discussed at present.”

He blinked sluggishly, still not quite fully upright.

“Answer me properly. Or else,” I demanded.

“Wha—!” He twitched. “Okay, okay, I am awake…” he protested, then lifted a hand weakly in surrender. “Geez…” His voice was hoarse.

“Good. Firstly, your routine check-up. I will do this every time you wake up.” I studied him closely. “How was your sleep? How do you feel, biologically? Did your rest hold any value?”

I looked down. “Please, tell me you did…” I breathed. A desperate thought escaped my mind ere I could catch it. Sleep is not always synonymous with being rested. If it was insufficient… that is problematic. We will not last long like this.

I just hope he did not hear it.

He moaned. “Well… yeah, nightmares. As usual. I think I’m gonna get used to it soon enough. Don’t you worry.”

“That never works. Answer the other ones.”

“I mean, I’m still tired. But like—normal tired, y’know? Who isn’t when they just woke up?” He rubbed his eyes and waved a hand vaguely. “I definitely stored up some rest. It’s just—uh—brewing? It'll be finished when I… I dunno, move around a bit. Stretch or something. That’s how rest works, right?”

“Are you sure? Do not lie.”

“I’ll be fine. Just need a minute to shake it off, promise.”

“Shaking off fatigue does not replenish your energy.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t. Didn’t I just say it? It just helps the rest come up. Plus, I think seeing you again kinda did anyway… heheh…”

I went quiet. His words lingered longer than they should have. ‘Seeing me again’… It was likely just a fleeting joke, a sentiment tossed in to lighten the mood, right? Still…

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

‘What is the matter’? A lot.

It feels like something inside me is glitching. Like a processor too outdated to handle this kind of input. He said that seeing me recharged his energy. That means I gave him something. Comfort. Warmth. That I helped him.

That I could be wanted. Without needing to earn it. Without needing to shrink myself, or be useful, or endure humiliation just to stay.

But why someone like me…?

(“Oh… Must be a lot. Take your time.”)

I have always known myself as the outlier. I had always felt that all my presence could do was taint the room, the atmosphere. That I am the drain. The weight.

My personality is not the most amicable. Too quiet. Too intense. Too strange. Unwanted. It stole the charge right out of the air. I do not remember why or who instilled that… but I believe it.

However, that is subjective, right?

…No. Subjectivity does not matter. Regardless, this would still apply. Because even objectively, I bring nightmares. I turn sleep—what many seek, what many lack, what many long for—into torture.

Love—if it ever existed—feels conditional. Transactional. Dangerous. Like I owe them something.

And now he says this. Just like that. Like it was obvious. Natural—and gratis. With no fear, no edge, no defense.

What am I supposed to do with this information…? My mind has no drawer for it.

…

Oh. He asked me. I should answer.

“Nothing… I am just wondering. Do you really mean those things?” I asked, knowing how pathetically insufficient that sounded. “I just… cannot verify and believe them entirely.” It was only a half truth. That was only part of it. The rest was harder to name, and even harder to articulate. I wish it were only that.

“Cael, look… Living things adapt, right? That’s how we survive. How we always did. So, I will too.” He cracked an uneven smile. “My dreams’ll suck. Because of you. But because of you too… your presence; it gives me the will to keep waking up.”

Adaptation… That is a defining trait of life. Evolutionary pressure shapes responses over time to ensure survival. Which means… if he endures this long enough, the nightmares may dull—lose their edge.

I gulped; that means Darkrai have throats. Of course. Wait—that is not what we are talking about here.

That should comfort me, but it does not. If he truly adapts, that means the harm has become his baseline. And if he starts to function with that pain—if it becomes background noise—then what am I? What does that make the weight I carry? What does that mean for me, as the ruler of nightmares?

I do not want him to die from these dreams. Though I… I need them to leave marks. I need them to matter. Because if they do not… then neither do I. Nightmares are what I am all about… at least now. But— but…

“Wow. Tough crowd.” He forced a chuckle, probably trying to shrug off the sting. “Did Dialga just suddenly decide to freeze time?”

I kept staring at him. 

I wish I could tell him. I wish I could explain that it is not about him—that this is simply what I am. If I were something like Groudon, I would not want land to be completely empty, either. But I… I cannot risk him knowing. Not the truth. Not that part. Not when it risks the shattering of trust.

…Honest. It would be. So? Honesty is worthless nowadays. How laughable… I see no use for that anymore. Deceiving you into honesty is the first trick they pull off when they want to unravel you. How ironic.

This is why I abominate trust. If I get close to someone… they will hurt me. Or, like now… I will hurt them. At least… might. I do not know… It feels treacherous.

“…Yo? Are you there? You’re not saying anything.” His voice was lighter now, tentative. “I meant what I said, if that’s what’s troubling you. You don’t seem… relieved by it. Or is that exactly the problem?”

I did not blink.

He hesitated, then shifted where he sat, arms curling loosely around one knee. “…Okay, I guess that wasn’t the right thing to say. But… I’m not sure what I’m supposed to anymore. You’re a hard one to read.” 

Ashen huffed quietly and rested his chin on his knee. “I’m trying.I’m just not sure what you want from me right now. But I guess it’s still my fault. For not being able to do that. Not trying hard enough.” He looked away. “I’m sorry. I suck. I made things dark the first thing after I woke up.”

I jolted at that. At him blaming himself. No. This is all my fault. I am choosing not to tell him.

“Wait—!” I blurted. I did not know what to say next. I just cannot stand watching people blame themselves for things out of their control.

His head lifted a little. “…Huh? What was that? Y-you looked like you were gonna vanish a second ago… but then you came back. Did I say something wrong again? Or something right, for once…?”

I shook my head. I wanted to answer, albeit yet again, I am choosing silence. Will he even understand what I meant by that unclear gesture?

“Okay… no pressure. Um… We can talk about this sometime later. I’m not going anywhere, after all. So… what else? What are we gonna do next, yeah?”

I hummed. “Definitely…”

“So… yeah. What are we gonna do? Is it planning time?” A flicker of eagerness sparked behind his voice. “Ooh! I know you’ve been silently cooking up something genius in that edgy brain of yours. Especially after those hours you’ve been guiding me.”

Hm… His teasing has returned. That was good. Predictable—in terms of when, not how nor what. I could function in predictability. And if I could not give answers to feelings… I could at least give answers to facts.

And my urge to do so has as well. Though… this is an unsuitable time to fool around.

I exhaled slowly. “Yes… I have a plan. There are a lot of steps I have outlined, although they are not perfectly detailed yet. We shall get to that later. For now, the most important course of action is determining how we would get to Corven’s shop… discreetly. I know we can simply do that currently, but our last visit here was not so… pleasant, was it?”

“Hm…”

“Unless… you are fine with all the awkward staring and scrutiny, this does not matter… I guess.”

He looked down at himself and gestured broadly. “I mean, do you really think this yellow-red shiny knight and this pitch-black night hag aren’t gonna get noticed?”

I paused. “…So there is no way.”

“Yeah… I don’t have an Invisify Orb on me right now. We’re doomed to be seen.” He sighed dramatically.

“I anticipated that; I knew it was… impossible anyway. What an inane thought…” I mused.

“Sorry, Cael. It’ll be fine, alright?”

“Sure. We should just… try to stay silent and stick to the side of the road—I will cover you. My blackness should blend a lot easier with any shadow. And maybe go through the alleyways if available. Do not stall. Do not stop. But do not run either—that will produce a lot of noise.”

He gave a half-nod. “Are you ready?” He stood up and picked up his sack again.

“No. But, there is no other option.”

“Then c’mon! Allons-y !Let’s go!” He turned around and we headed toward town.

“You switched languages just now. Precisely like… you did while sleeping,” I mentioned.

“Oh, what…? Did I? Really?”

“Yes. Pars pas.don’t leave. Though, as was anticipated, you do not recall.”

“Huh. Well, hey, why don’t we just talk in French, then?” He looked over his shoulder, grinning. “Y’know, if I’m already slipping into it and you understand—”

“I am not that fluent in French.”

“Wait—really?”

“Really.”

“But you—” He made a flailing gesture. “You just said pars pasdon’t leave like it was nothing!”

“Repeating what I heard is not the same as conversing in it.”

“Okay, yeah, but—didn’t you say something before? Mon poteBuddy or something?”

“Recognition is not fluency either.”

“Dang… And here I was thinking we could have secret conversations nobody else would understand. Guess not.”

“…Is this place not filled with people who can speak French?”

“Cael. Gleisien Town is in this part where everyone knows German.”

“I see.”

“ ‘I see’?! That’s all you have to say??”

I blinked. “Yes?”

“Cael, I just told you we can’t have secret French conversations to mess with people and be smug bilingual disasters —and your response is merely ‘I see’?!”

“You are the only one grieved by this.”

Ashen sighed. “Tragically, yes.”

The dirt path turned into that familiar cracked stone underfoot. The populace became clearer by the second, though… not many were in sight.

“Here we are.”

Ashen, beside me, rolled his neck once and muttered under his breath, “Ugh… if I see that Bibarel again…”

“_Shh…!” I whispered sharply.

He glanced at me, unbothered. “What? He’s not even here.”

“But other people might be…” I pointed out.

We kept close to the walls, skimming the edges where shadow pooled. Being technically higher than Ashen actually had a real bonus; I could cover him pretty well. It was dark enough to blur us into the scenery—but I did not trust scenery. I did not trust silence. Last time, they had stared. Glared. Spat.

And now… nothing. There was hardly anyone. The few outside were still busy among themselves.

The stillness gnawed just as hard as the judgment did… I do not know why.

Ashen hummed nonchalantly as he veered right at the intersection.

“Are you certain you know the quickest route?” I asked.

“Yes. I’ve been here a lot of times, Cael. Practically my second hometown. Just trust me.”

Hm… Yes. He should be leading correctly. If he did not, he would be sabotaging us both; it would not make sense. I suppose this is what he meant when he said he had history here.

My heart is still pounding. My gaze wandered practically everywhere. I kept scanning the windows, the alleys, the doorways. 

What if they were just watching from inside this time? What if they were waiting until some sort of perfect opportunity?

I wiped a sweat tear dripping down my temple. Yes… It feels no different than his. At least that is what I could perceive.

No. Focus.

He is walking so… calmly. Not the serious type. Just the casual calm. The laid-back kind where you do not take anything seriously.

I wonder why.

The curtains were drawn. Most of the doors were either shut or open—except one which was stuck in an erratic loop of closing and opening. Must be what he mentioned when we first met. It truly feels deserted.

…It seems justified.

But I still cannot shake the feeling that this was all staged and scripted.

We turned another corner. A building ahead had a lantern dangling from a beam, swinging—notwithstanding the absence of wind. Its motion looked mostly normal, although some parts felt… spliced. Must be another effect of the loop.

“Hey, still panicking?” he suddenly asked—not even looking at me—as if he was trying to show just how perceptive he was. “Calm down.”

He knew. Tch—!

“I know what’s happening,” he added, smiling with that same closed-eye calm—that somehow irritated me more than if he had shouted.

(Just ignore it. He is always like that. One day, you will meet your opportunity to act all smug too. And you shall seize it.)

I sighed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ve seen this a lot, bro. It’s routine.”

“But how do you know?” My voice came out tighter than intended. “They could be doing something else. Preparing a ‘surprise’ for us, masked under the disguise of routine. You never know how easily those can be abused to throw you off.” I did not mean to expound that much. I hope he does not ask where I got that knowledge from… since I do not know either.

“What.” He finally turned to face me. “That’s grim… You're making it sound like they’re planning an ambush to hold us hostage—but meh—to be fair, that's really expected from someone like you.”

“It is realistic.”

“You're paranoid.”

“It is one of the possibilities.”

“Why would they do that anyway? Oh—right. That's fair. But still! It doesn't mean you're right this time.”

“…You still have not told me what exactly is happening.”

“Just wait ‘till we reach his shop. He should be able to explain. Even though he's kind of a grouch.”

“Hmph.” I rolled my eyes.

We continued walking—or in my case, yet again, floating—Ashen’s steps muffled by the uneven stone. There was no need to keep our voices low anymore, but the stillness lingered…

Ashen kept leading, almost too casually. He had that bounce in his step like we were out on some leisurely stop—while I just… float. Flatly.

A window creaked out open across the street. No one peered out. Despite being silent, I noticed it. Yet another effect of the loop. I must have been so absorbed in my worries the last time we visited to notice these subtle details. Just… shows how real it is, I suppose.

“We're close!” Ashen announced.

“Good to know.”

“Wow, you actually have something nice to say for once?”

“Huh…? Well. Your standards must be interesting if that qualifies as ‘nice’—it was only a general statement of approval; for your information, it is no different than ‘okay’.”

“You really don't know how to take a compliment, huh?”

I squinted my eyes. “Was that a compliment?”

“Figures.”

He stopped at the next intersection and looked to his left, then gave a tiny little “a-ha!” noise and pointed. “There.”

And there it was. The A-sign reading the unmistakable ‘CORVIKNIGHT’S GOODS’, painted in bold strokes.

“See? I told you.” Ashen grinned, already shifting his weight like he was about to bolt up the steps.

“What did you tell me?”

“That we were close, duh?” He tilted his heat.

“Why did you have to say that as if I ever doubted you?”

“You do. A lot.”

“Regarding your previous statement.”

“Whatever. He's waiting for us!”

The shop looked exactly as we had left it. Same warped scrap metal, same perfectly arranged racks behind the counter.

Though, Corven was absent. Not even a shadow. 

“Mister Corven!” Ashen shouted. His voice bounced off the walls. No reply.

My gut twisted. “Is he… gone?”

“What? No—he’s probably just upstairs!”

“Then prove it.”

I… What if this is it? The twist I have been anticipating? What if that routine Ashen mentioned was just a ruse? What if Corven had told everyone that we were coming back just to prepare all of this?

(“Corven!”)

Maybe this is why the silence never felt peaceful. What if it was the setup? Everything here just looked too intact, too untouched—like it was made to give the illusion of normalcy.

I clutched my bangs. “Should we go now…?” I muttered.

Ashen did not respond, still expecting something.

Then, dull thuds cut through the air around us. Slow footsteps came from the upper floor.

Ashen jolted slightly. “Ah, see? I told you!”

“I will… give you that.”

He is not coming down to murder us, is he…? To kidnap us?

A familiar grumble filtered down from the stairs: “You two again?”

Well, as long as it is not silent, there should be nothing wrong, right?

A bird walking downstairs… How unique. But I suppose his wings are too big for him to fly inside anyway.

“Greetings, my favorite merchant—!” Ashen started.

“I'm the only one in town.”

“Oooh, right! Of course, of course. But anyways, we've got everything you want!”

Ashen opened his bundle and started laying everything he asked for down: five ground flux shards, all the Ice flux zone-exclusive berries, and Never-Melt Ice. Well—technically six shards; he had to snap one apart to create five in order to hand everything to Corven.

We still have five more for our own use… Excellent.

“Took you long enough,” he commented as Ashen was arranging the items.

“It was a long journey. The flux zone was a bit far, heheh…!”

Corven squinted at the pile, then tilted his head slightly. His talons clicked against the counter as he inspected each item, turning over each once.

“Decent haul.”

“I mean, I guess so! Kinda wish we’d gotten more, but anyways… where's our bag?”

‘I guess so’? Does that mean our exploration’s results were not optimal? I figured as well. Glad to see the feeling is mutual, at least.

Corven nodded once and turned to the back shelf, retrieving the same weathered satchel from last time—faded brown, rough-stitched, still holding strong.

“Still want it?”

“Of course!” Ashen beamed. “This baby's got character!”

“Good. It's yours then.”

“Who’s going to carry this? Cael, care to do the honors?”

I nodded.

“Great! Then…” he picked up the satchel and stepped around behind me, hoisting it carefully by the strap.

I stood still. It should have been an easy task.

It was not.

The moment he tried to slip the strap over my head, it caught immediately—ensnared by the ever-shifting fog of my hair. The loop was not wide enough.

“Uh—okay, hang on,” Ashen muttered, already wrestling with the middle section. “You’ve got… so much hair, Cael. It’s like wrangling a cloud.”

“I myself am not even sure if this is hair,” I replied, letting my voice hang low. “Another lovely anatomical mystery from the human-to-Pokémon transition. Pokémon tend to have ambiguous structural features—at least for us humans.”

He grunted. “You'll find out eventually… Can this thing stop moving?”

I shrugged. I was too entertained to bother ruining the ordeal with words. His commentary felt more than enough for both of us to fill in his oddly satisfying struggle with architectural anatomy.

“Helpful,” he responded.

He gently lifted the billowing strands, pushing them up and over the middle of the strap’s loop, until the rest of the leather finally slipped down and past the bulk of my mane.

“There!” Ashen declared. “Now just—oh. Wait.”

The strap had fallen… directly between the jagged red spikes arranged in a circle around my neck; it was messy.

He squinted and turned to Corven. “One sec!” He then brought us a few steps away from the counter.

Continuing, now using both hands. He shifted the strap down toward my right, easing it past the tatters—whatever you call it—of my shoulder and guiding it under the arm. “It’s like your whole design was intentionally built to make bags impossible.”

“I am not sure Darkrai were ever expected to carry bags.”

“Well they should've!”

Eventually, after another tug and a bit of angled effort, the strap settled across my chest—technically crossbody. But instead of sitting naturally, it was circling around the outside of my long collar, hanging lower than it should have, and dragging uncomfortably at my neck.

Ashen stared at it for a second.

“…This looks weird. Nope, nope—I don’t like it. Hold still. I’m improvising.”

He shifted behind me again and—without warning—pulled the strap back up, wedging it directly between two of the spikes on the left side of my collar. Then, he slipped the other side between a matching pair on the right, just above my shoulder; it essentially acted as a loop anchor. With a smaller circumference, it hung much better.

“…Okay. This is fine. You've got a really, really wide neck—whatever this is—y’know that?”

I just stared at him.

“Okay, cool. Whatever. Bag's on. We win. Thank god the strap's pretty long… Kinda surprising wrapping it around these… spiky things on your neck—didn’t work.”

I hummed.

Afterward, we approached Corven again.

“…Okay. Now that you're done, need anything else?” Corven asked.

“Yes, actually,” I finally spoke.

Corven slowly tilted his head deliberately, one eye narrowed at me. “…Huh. That voice. So, the shadow does speak.” We must have been just out of earshot.

He tapped his wings on the counter rhythmically. “Hm. Ya trying to intimidate me into better offers?” He chuckled. Is this merchant humor?

“…No. This is just how I sound like.” It did not come out as firm as I wanted. I hope he is convinced.

“Very well then. Didn't think you'd bother. I listen more carefully when the quiet ones speak. I like it. I'll hear you out, but I gotta organize these things first. Hope you don't mind waiting, Marewalker. Go do whatever while you wait—maybe celebrate or move all your stuff. But don't bother me.”

“Understood.”

“You’re really different from him. How… interesting,” he remarked.

Ashen was giggling in the background, covering where his mouth would be with a hand.

“Unfortunately, we are associated,” I replied.

Ashen suddenly stopped and gasped dramatically, eyes widening.

“Ha ha! Be right back.”

With a quiet grunt, he swept the pile of items into a large, shallow tray using a wing, acting as a pushing board, roughly lined with cloth to keep things from sliding and shattering. He pressed the edges of the tray between his wings, gripping just firmly enough to keep it balanced, though his posture looked like a clumsy hunch. He started waddling to the racks and crates behind.

It was not graceful, nor was the way he did things the last time we visited either. Not having hands do come with a lot of challenges. Humanoid Pokémon have quite the unfair advantage here.

“CAEL. WE NEED TO TALK. NOW!’

“What.”

“What do you mean ‘unfortunately’?! You could've acknowledged how amazing our dynamic is!”

“I do not lie to myself.”

Ashen staggered backward like he had been stabbed, clutching his chestplate. “Ouch! The betrayal! That went straight to the heart? Ow…!”

“Not this again,” I murmured.

“We have chemistry! We're a duo! We're two hyper-intelligent, mystery-solving, zone-exploring power brains! What is unfortunate about that?”

“Everything.”

“But Cael! We just survived everything together! You even carried me back while I was sleeping! I helped cure your boredom in the flux zone!”

“Seriously. Did you have acting classes? Who taught you theatrics?”

He gasped again; is that all theater kids can do? “Acting classes?! Cael, how dare you! I’ll have you know I’m self-taught! This is raw, natural talent!”

“I… see. Is it not amusing how easily you make it seem like I insulted your entire lineage with a single word?”

“I—You did!”

“Oh. How unfortunate. I fail to see how that is my fault.”

“THAT WRETCHED WORD AGAIN?! I demand an explanation!”

“What else is there to say? I meant what I said…”

“What?! That wasn't sarcasm? You wound me, Cael! So rude! And uncalled for!”

“…Partially.”

“Wait! That means you don't dislike me! Feels like a compliment… aw.”

“It was not meant to be.”

“You're so weird about affection.”

“And you… make too much noise about it.”

“Are you guys done with your mating display? Or are you two already married?” Corven called from the back, his tray on the ground as he picked up the items one by one with his talons, organizing it in his crates. “This is the most entertainment I've had in weeks. Keep going.”

“IT’S NOT—” Ashen’s voice cracked mid-denial. He coughed violently. “I mean—it’s not a—wow… okay! I swear, it's just friendly camaraderie!”

“I am not complicit in this. But sure, Corven.” I could not care less.

Ashen turned back to me with renewed fire in his eyes. “Alright, if we’re being dramatic today—I demand a public redemption arc. Now! Meticulously elucidate the nuanced emotional rationale that underpinned your decision to present a statement with only partial sincerity, rather than embracing the full weight of what you clearly meant.”

I somehow understood all of that. I am more shocked that he knew all of those words.

“You are loud. And reckless. And your optimism is only occasionally functional.”

“Wow.” He rolled his eyes. That must be the most meticulous elucidation I've ever heard in my life.” He crossed his arms. “Hmph. You're just jealous I bring”—he pointed to himself—“charm to this duo.”

“That is not a valid survival trait.”

“It’s helped us this far! I've helped us this far!”

“ We did,” I corrected. “It was… team effort.”

“Wait! You used ‘we’! That means you see us as a unit!”

“That is the truth. Besides, it was grammatically unavoidable.” My voice dropped to a breath. “You are making this way more dramatic than it needs to be.”

“Face it, Cael. You adore me. Deep, deep, deep down. You’re only trying masking it behind acting cool and distant because you’re scared of how much you actually enjoy my company.”

“I genuinely do not. At least, not yet.”

“Ah, denial!” he sang. “Classic symptom of a suppressed friendship.”

“I am denying because it is the truth.”

“And the truth is that you like me!”

“I do not. I am only tolerating you.”

“Mmmhm. Sure. You’re tolerating me so hard you haven’t left yet. Mark my words, Cael: one day, truth will out.”

“The truth may reveal itself, but it does not mean it is guaranteed to be brought to light.”

“You're lucky I like you. And to show you, say one more thing like that and I’m hugging you in front of Corven. I’ll do it. You know I will.”

“Will he even see us? Is he not—”

“No, I'm here,” Corven interjected, already watching us closely behind the counter like he was relishing in our… banter. “Are you gonna do it?” he continued. Ashen jolted at once hearing his words, and I can not really blame him for it; was he not just sorting all the items out a while ago?

“Wha—! Oh… n-no! It was just a joke, ahah!”

“Sure,” I responded.

“Hm. That's unfortunate—”

“Hey—!”

“—But regardless, bravo. Weirdest comedy act I've seen. Anyways, we still have unfinished business here now, eh?”

“Right, right. Cael, go.”

I went silent for a bit out of shock, then I started, “Well, we were think— wondering if we could obtain a notebook and some writing supplies as well.”

“Data logging,” I answered. “And also expedition journaling.”

Ashen gave a proud little nod beside me. “Told you he’s a genius. Wait—you haven’t even told me that before!”

“I must have forgotten. Not that it matters right now. Anyways, what do you say?”

Corven groaned softly. “Stock’s running low but I can spare one. Got any more payment?”

I said under my breath, to Ashen, “Pull out your Lum Berry. Or Berries, whatever.”

Ashen scrambled and pulled out all the Lum Berries he had—three—from his bindle placing it delicately on the counter. He looked hopeful, maybe even innocent. “We got this?” he asked, wide-eyed.

I have just realized now that we have not moved our items to the satchel since we were too busy with whatever that was. We shall do it later.

Corven stared at it. “That’s not enough.”

How regrettable. Let us see what Ashen will do now.

Ashen’s face fell. “Aw… really?

“These are rare, yeah, but not that rare. A notebook’s paper. Paper’s harder to come by.”

“C’monnn, please?” Ashen leaned forward, hands pressed together in front of his face. “Give us a discount maybe? Pleasepleasepleaseplease—”

“Stop.” Corven’s tone didn’t change, but it hit like a slap. “I’ll consider it. If you stop.”

Ashen froze. “…Awh. Okay.” He stepped back, looking down like a scolded kid.

Corven did not speak right away. His eyes flicked from Ashen to me as he let out a low, thoughtful hum.

“You actually remembered to get a bag. And now… you’ve recognized the importance of writing supplies. Not really—that was probably courtesy of your partner here.” He then said quietly, “Thank you, by the way.”

“So…?”

“Y’know what?” He turned around and started walking towards his supplies. “Fine.”

“Wait, really?!” he exclaimed.

“Not because your offer’s good. It’s not. But because I am suffering. And watching you two… is keeping me alive. I also have to… respect the strategizing.”

He emerged with a slim, beat-up notebook—cover faded—and a blunt pencil looped in string, large enough for him to clutch with his wings. He dropped it in front of us like it weighed nothing. It was not fully closed—something must also be inside it.

He set it next to the Lum Berry. “…Take it. Lest I reconsider.”

Ashen scrambled to scoop it up, then came closer to me to pack the set in the main pouch of the satchel. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—!”

“Don’t thank me. You still owe me entertainment. Every time you come back, I expect another episode.”

“What,” I spluttered. “Episode…?”

“Episode?!” Ashen looked halfway between thrilled and mortified. “Ha ha…! I knew I had main character energy!”

Wait. Where did that term come from? Episode—as in a segmented narrative installment? Televised programming? Do televisions exist here?

I do not recall ever seeing one. Nor hearing static. Nor discovering any kind of remote broadcasting equipment. Nevertheless, that is probably because I have not entered any buildings at all during my time here.

“Episode as in what, again?" I asked aloud, just to confirm.

Ashen blinked at me. “Y’know. Like… a segment. Part of a story. A—wait.” He tilted his head. “Do you not know what an episode is?”

“I know that. I am questioning the origin—because that term implies serialized visual media. Do televisions exist here? Broadcasting.”

That earned me two confused stares. Corven was the one who answered.

“They used to,” he said, reaching under the counter again. “Long ago, before the Catastrophe. Towns had televisions—yes—towers, even radio signals. But once the loops started… none of that tech could function. Time kept resetting before signals could land anywhere. So, those became obsolete.”

“Where did they go?”

“Repurposed. You don’t keep dead weight when you’re starving.”

“But the term still persisted?” I asked.

Ashen shrugged. “Old habits die hard. Enjoyed the lore drop?”

“I suppose so.”

“Anyways, speaking of lore drops… Mister Corven, why are you still here?”

“I was waiting for your return,” Corven replied.

“Ah… See, Cael? Even he couldn’t resist my charm!” He leaned in closer, hands directed toward himself on his chest. “I told you!”

“Do not involve him in this,” I shot back. “Anyways, what exactly is happening here?”

“Oh yes! I did say I was gonna tell you. Corven, mind explaining?”

“Essentially, the able-bodied go out every few ‘days’ or so to explore various flux zones, while the others just organize things or rest. It just so happened that you returned in the middle of this,” he expounded.

“Then who will guard the supplies?”

He opened a wing. “If there are no supplies to steal, why do we need to guard them?”

“…I see. In that case—if you are still here, where do your supplies come from?”

“I have some subordinates who help me acquire things as well; particularly helpful in times like these.”

“Caelllll!” Ashen intoned. “Look what I told you!”

“Quiet. Now, Ashen, does this town have a library?”

“What? You wanna nerd out or something? Oh golly, how fun! Especially with the personification of scholarliness himself!”

“I would prefer if you stopped addressing me with such increasingly flamboyant titles,” I muttered, shifting the newly acquired satchel in my grasp. “Where is it?”

“Alright, alright! There’s a small one to the left of the town square, I think. Not super big, but… it should have whatever you’re looking for about this world.”

“Satisfactory.” I turned to Corven and gave the smallest, stiffest nod. “Thank you for your service.”

He rumbled. “Yeah. Come back again. I expect more entertainment and better offers.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Ashen called back, practically skipping as he followed me out and waved at Corven.

I slowed down and let him take the lead. Once we were a few paces away from the shop, I looked back at our satchel.

I sighed. So this is what it feels like… to finally buy something for yourself.

The thought came uninvited. I had not considered it until now. I do not recall ever feeling this way… almost as if nothing I once owned ever truly belonged to me.

But now that I held the weight of this satchel—ours—I could not ignore the strange sense blooming quietly inside me. It feels unfamiliar… not because it is heavy nor too light, but it is mine. Something taut and soft and difficult to name.

What I think I have… was always only assigned, loaned. Not truly given—even if they say so. My grasp on it is ephemeral; it can be taken back the moment it became inconvenient for the lender to let me have it.

It is… ridiculous logic. But I remember believing it.

“…Cael?” Ashen called from ahead.

I blinked and moved forward again. “Coming.”

Hm… I think I have overlooked something…

My gaze drifted to the satchel again. Right.

“Wait. Come here,” I ordered as I stopped in front of a bench.

“Huh?” He turned around.

“You are still carrying everything in that bundle—thanks to your distraction once we received it. Let us fix that now afore we continue and enter a building.”

“Whoops! Sorry!” he chirped, bouncing closer.

“Open that thing. Grab your items one by one, and organize them into the pouches here. We can do it while we move if you want.”

“Nooope. I don’t think I’ll risk scattering. But okay, okay!” He plopped the bundle down on the seat and began untying the knot. “Hmmm… What do we have here?” he hummed, rummaging through the contents?

“Do you want me to lay the satchel down?”

“Nah, just stay where you are. I don’t want to deal with the hassle of putting it on you again.” He crouched beside my leg instead. “Okay… let’s start with berries first,” he said, scooping them up and dropping them into the left-side pouch, one by one. “One Cheri Berry, one Rawst Berry, one Yache Berry, a whole lot of Oran Berries, then finally these two bitter ones—Aguav and Jaboca. Oh yeah, can’t forget these Apples for snacking.”

There were six Orans and two Apples, for the record. How these all managed to fit inside that wretched cloth sack without bursting through the seams, I still do not understand. Not how these still fit in our satchel either.

“Oh—the seeds too! Two plain ones, also for snacking…” He tucked them into a smaller pouch on the right side of the front. “And a Blast Seed—not for snacking.”

“Then what is it for?”

“Throw them at enemies. Boom. Big damage.”

I hummed. The shapes are… interesting, though I do not have time to describe them now—not when the items are packed already in an instant; however, I think I will be able to recognize them hereafter. This may take a while. I folded my arms and resigned myself to watching.

“Okay, now my one and only treasured orb—this Slumber Orb! Before you ask, they put everyone in a big radius—including you, to sleep; that’s the basic gist. I’ll explain more at the library.” He slipped it into the larger of the two front pouches like it was fragile.

“Let’s see… And then we have all these assorted items, like this…”—he gave an exaggerated squint—”Flame Orb—careful, these things will burn you; don’t touch except if you’re me—and… Charcoal! Classic fire-type move booster.” Both went into the middle pocket with a casual toss.

“Then why are you not using it?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Haven’t figured out a good way to hold it yet. Besides, who needs it when they’re not battling?”

“Fair.”

“And then there’s this little thing.” He held it up like he was unveiling treasure. “Cameruptite—Mega Evolution item! Doesn’t work because of the time loop, but…”

“Then why are you keeping it?”

“Looks cool. Duh. Plus, we’ve got a lot of space now, don’t we? This one’s a Dragon Scale—another evolutionary thing, I’m keeping ‘cause it’s cool. And that’s everything from the Fire flux zones!”

I blinked. “That is… a lot. How many times have you gone to one?”

“I’ve gone to two, actually. Twice on the first as practice, then once more in a new one.” He lifted a palm up while explaining, then dropped them again.

Huh. We had gotten two items from the Ice flux zone. He had five from his three Fire excursions. So… one or two per trip, on average.

“Also, apparently they include Dragon-type stuff too,” he added. “Probably to compensate for Dragon zones not existing. Maybe that’s ‘cause dragons breathe fire? Who knows.”

‘Dragon flux zones’ not existing…? That reminded me of something else which sounded like something I should already know. Why had I never followed up on this?

“So… what happens to Pokémon whose types do not correspond to any flux zone?”

“Simple. They just gain immunity to the flux zone their type items spawn in. For example, Dragon-types with Fire flux zones, Fighting with Rock-Ground flux zones—‘cause fists break rock? Normal with Flying zones—‘cause we have way too many dual Normal/Flying-types I suppose, and wind equals purity or something—and finally Bug with Grass-Poison zones—‘cause bugs thrive in foresty areas and they’re also paired a lot with Poison.”

I looked away momentarily. “Good for them, I suppose.”

“Yeah. But I bet it took a lot of trial and error to figure out which zone you were immune to, right?” he remarked, as he arranged the items inside. “Who knows how many tragedies happened because they thought they were immune to something else?”

“Right.”

“Okay! Then from the Steel flux zone…” He perked up again. “A King’s Rock! Makes moves cause flinching sometimes. That’s the only one I brought back, though.”

“You only found one item that time?”

“Well… technically I found a Lagging Tail, but it was way too heavy. And all it does is make you slower anyway. Who wants that?”

“Reasonable.”

“And then—flux stuff!” He held up a few shards in a glittering handful. “The five Ground shards from our trip, plus a Rock flux shield orb and two spares I found in Steel. Then one Ice flux shard I still had from before!” He funneled them neatly into a narrow pouch.

“You got seven shards from the Steel flux zone?”

“Yup! I usually get six. Seven if I’m lucky, five if not. That was when I ventured into the Fire flux zone that got me the Steel shards.

“So we got hapless?”

“‘Hapless’? Is that like… unlucky?” He laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. But don’t sweat it—we still got a pair every time we found one. Pretty generous for a ‘bad’ run.”

“So much generosity for misfortune.” I sighed. “Why did you not tell me prior?”

“Haven’t found the right time. We were busy surviving everything, our convo after we got out was short, and we were doing business with Corven earlier. Yeah?”

“Understandable.”

He rose to his feet and stretched, hands on his hips. “And that’s a wrap! Operation ‘Item Transfer’—complete! Mission—success! Inventory—”

I gestured to the now-empty bindle. “What are you going to do with that?”

He glanced down, then gave a sheepish grin. “I guess I’ll give it to Mederry as a…— I dunno. A memorial? For myself and its service.” He chuckled and lifted it with surprising fondness.

We moved onward. After I started hovering, I could really feel the weight on the satchel now.

“Now that we've finished that, we finally have time to talk! I've got some things I wanna comment on.”

“Go on.”

“So… those things you did in the Ice flux zone were wicked awesome! And also, I can't thank you enough for saving me. A lot of times.”

“Yes… Flight can be very helpful in dire situations. Albeit, that raises another question: how did you survive in all those flux zones earlier without me?”

His feet brushed against the dust on the ground with a sweeping sound. “Haha… Good question. Well, I guess you could say the zones I went to previously weren't like the Ice one. They were… flatter. Not many cliffs and bridges and all sorts of falling hazards.”

“So you were lucky.”

“Well, you see… I still fell too.”

“But you are still here. That sounds infuriatingly fortunate.”

“Super lucky? Yeah… When I do fall it's mostly because I trip on stuff or it's into a hole I can climb out of. But still…”

Ashen adjusted the bindle against his shoulder, elbow jutting up sharply as he hoisted it higher. As the pauldron shifted, I caught a glimpse of something just beneath it—a slightly, behind the elbow. The square-like armor protrusion ended in a subtle but unmistakable scar.

“What is that? On the… outgrowth of your left arm? Your elbow.”

“Oh? This?” He twisted slightly to get a better look, pointing lazily from underneath. “Under the square-ish part?”

“Yes, that. Also—if I am being honest, it looks more like a trapezoid.”

“Haha, wow. You would say that.” He chuckled. “Yeah, you’ve finally noticed. Must’ve been super hidden, huh? I mean, it’s covered by my pauldrons, plus this part of my arm is black—just like you!—so it makes sense—but anyways, I got this from my first exploration.”

“How did you get one in such an… unobtrusive spot?”

“Well, I was running backwards from a fire vortex in a Fire flux zone early on. Totally forgot I was immune to it, heh. Then I tripped and fell on my back, using this knee as support.”

I stared at the scar again. “So… you only tripped once throughout all of your voyages?”

“Nah…” He waved it off. “I’ve tripped a lot. But Oran and Sitrus berries are wonder workers. They patch things up fast and clean—Sitrus Berries are faster. If you eat one quick enough, no scar tissue. That time, though? I didn’t have any. After that, you can guess.”

“Is it your only one?”

Ashen perked up slightly. He turned around with a sheepish grin, face bashful. “Um. Okay, well… no.”

“There is another? Where is it?”

“On, uh. The bottom of my armor. Like, the back part. I landed on it.”

I looked at the lower part of his armor’s backside. There was a panel jutting outward there which curved around the entirety of this half, running straight down before curving in, angles well-defined—there was the scar. “Oh.” It was a barely visible indent. “I see it now that I pay attention to it.”

“You’re making it weird…”

“I was not going to. Besides, I never look down there. Why would I?”

“You’re right. But oh my Arceus…” He planted a palm on his face and started laughing heartily. “How many times we’re mentioning it right now, pfft— hilarious!”

“…Sure. It is also a miracle you are still alive… Quite astonishing.” I scoffed.

“Hey, thanks! I know my existence is a miracle!”

“That was not a compliment—just an observation.”

“Still counts.”

“You know, that tactic is not… sustainable. If you could call gambling a tactic at all.”

He glanced at me. “Well, you're my tactic now.”

“What does that mean?”

He walked backwards now, a playful—yet weirdly sincere smirk lingering on his face. “It means I’m counting on you now. You analyze stuff, you fly, you use logic very well, and don’t forget the fancy words! I think I’d rather trip with you around than not at all, yeah?”

“…Yeah.”

I could not reply properly to that.

Not in a way that would be… appropriate. Or safe. Even if I… can accept being trusted, that was not something one should say so easily. Especially in a setting like this. Last time, I had just assumed he trusted the plan, not my actual self.

I turned my eyes away from him. Not that he would notice… I have been behind him for the most part.

You cannot rely on others. Not truly.

You can travel with them, converse, even save each other’s lives—but counting on them? That is a different thing entirely. It is dangerous.

It is not even his fault; I know that, but that does not change what I know—that no matter how sincere someone sounds…

One way or another, they will always disappoint you in the end. Relying means attachment. Attachment means expectations. Expectations mean inevitable disappointment. One that hits harder when it does. Through betrayal, abandonment, or something else.

And I—I do not remember who taught me that, or how, but I feel it in my bones like the ghost of frostbite.

I wish I could tell him this. But something is holding me back. Mayhaps shifting the topic would be better for now.

“Anyways,”—I said, shifting the topic—“regarding your armor. Previously, I did not want to drift too much from the current topic, so I will ask it now: that part of your armor got chipped and apparently it has grown back, correct? Is that armor part of you?”

“Oh, whoa. That’s a legit science question.”

“Indeed.”

He tapped the left side of his armor’s front side, making a soft clink. “Okay, so—yeah. It’s part of me. Like, it’s grown in. Not actual armor… though it’s not like skin. It’s more like—uh, I dunno. A turtle’s shell? Or a Cloyster’s?—and all the shellfish Pokémon. You can hit it, and I won’t feel much, but if you crack it too hard, I’ll feel it in my bones, y’know?”

“So it is attached to your nervous system?”

“I think not directly? Maybe it presses on the nerves underneath so I feel it when it’s too hard…? I don’t know Cael, I’m no biology major!”

“If it does conduct pain, what is its purpose?”

Ashen raised his arms. “It’s defense! It spreads the impact. I still feel it, yeah, but if I didn’t have this plating?”

“So… that also can get wounded and heals with you too… Got it.”

“Exactly! Like an exoskeleton all the Bug-types have, sorta. You can chip it, and if you eat enough berries or rest, it’ll regrow—just slowly.”

“Fascinating.”

“Did you major in biology as a human? Or at least—wanted to?”

“No. The jobs available after you graduate pay too low.”

“Fair enough, I suppose… And also, Cael!—here we are! The library!” He stood in front of it, a hand on his hips.

I halted, letting my gaze crawl up the rectangular structure like a slow shiver. It stood alone on its own plot of land, untouched by neighboring buildings. Two roads flanked either side of the library, each stemming from the intersections that framed it in front—one to the left, one to the right.

The building loomed, looking more like a mausoleum of sorts—old, dignified, and heavy with silence, as the rest of the town was now. A slightly slanted gable rose from the center of the roof, seemingly running from the front all the way to the back—while the rest stretched out, flat and broad—all covered in char-black shingles.

Smooth, arched windows lined both stories. The ground floor boasted a row of columns and a set of massive double doors made from metal-darkened oak—with wide stairs leading up to a small portico ahead of it. It seemed tall enough for Pokémon double my height—I do not know.

The design otherwise is quite simple—no carvings, no architectural embellishments, nothing—except for a small sign beside the door reading ‘Gleisien Town Library’; they must have needed to be parsimonious when it comes to resource allocated to the sign.

“Done with your observations?”

“How… modest,” I uttered.

Ashen glanced between me and the building. “Wait… is that your version of a compliment—or a diss?”

I beckoned for him to come with me, and we began up the path toward the entrance. “The former. Direct, understandable, pleasant to look at—that is enough for me.”

“So, if it were covered in statues and runes and allat, you'd hate it.”

“Not exactly… Just would find it excessive. There would be too many things to process when the world is already convoluted enough,” I added.

Ashen blinked as we started climbing the short staircase. “Simple doesn't mean boring, right?”

“No—more like serene.”

“…You're right. It is kinda cool now that I see it like that.”

Once at the top, we paused in front of the door.

“Shall we go in now?” he asked, turning towards me.

“Sure.”

And so, I reached for the iron handle and pushed the door open.

Chapter Text

The door opened with a low creak, like it had not been used in ages. We stepped in, and the atmosphere shifted that instant.

Behind us, I heard the same creak over and over. I turned.

The door was stuck in that glitchy, swinging loop Ashen had warned me about. It kept fluttering open and snapping shut like an indecisive heartbeat. Over and over. Never resting.

“Should we do something about that?”

“Nah, it's not hurting anyone.”

“Wait, why? Will that not be a problem eventually? Like someone stepping in and getting squashed by the door?”

“You've got quite the imagination there,” he said, half-smirking awkwardly. “Yeah, maybe. You can fix it if you close it at just the right moment… Like mid-reset, before it picks a direction.”

“Then… why not fix it now?”

“Tess’ll do it when she notices. The librarian here. She’s probably bored out of her mind.”

I stared at the door for a moment longer, listening to the fluttering rhythm, then let it be, averting my gaze to what was in front of me.

The walls—tall and cold—were hewn from aged, ash-gray stone. No carvings. No ornaments. The air smelled… still. That kind of still that clings to places no one’s spoken in for far too long.

Like everywhere else, there were no light sources—no flames, no wires—but we could see and probably read, dimly. The centre of the aforementioned gable in the roof was made of gridded glass panels unlike the rest, and it may have helped the faint light trickle in. But this light felt different from the outside—pale, diffuse, making the dust hang visibly in the air.

Tall wooden shelves rose from the stone floor, arranged in long, straight rows—reaching into the mezzanine above—which wrapped around the far half of the building, accessible by two symmetrical, straight staircases into either side. 

The reading tables were located under the space below the second level, surrounded by neatly placed chairs, as if someone had taken care to tidy them after every use… even if no one had used them in years. The open space in the center of the library let the ceiling stretch upward without interruption—a shared roof across both levels.

Sliding library ladders leaned against the taller shelves above at uneven intervals. Books of various sizes and thickness filled the cases—though ‘filled’ was generous. Many shelves were half-empty, some only holding scrolls, while others were layered in nothing but dust, although no spiderwebs were present.

It was almost as if nobody had bothered nor had anything to write nor anymore—understandable, especially post-Catastrophe.

The desk by the entrance was vacant, though it did not feel abandoned, just unused. For a moment I thought there was no librarian—until I noticed the Audino near the very back, sweeping in slow, repetitive strokes. Movements that weren’t thoughtful anymore. Just… practiced, for years.

There was no sense of greeting. Only awareness.

“What do you think of the inside, now?” Ashen gestured broadly to the entire library with a grin.

I dropped my voice. “Surreal. Also, keep your voice down. We are… here. Even though nobody else is.”

“Oh, right, haha…” His voice also dropped. “Anyways, is that supposed to be a bad thing, or a good thing, again?”

“Good. The silence here is peaceful. The lighting adds well to the untouched ambience. Silence only unnerves when it expects something back.”

“You say stuff like that and then you’d probably act all confused when people call you cryptic.”

“That was meant to be taken… literally. There was no poetry there.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course you’d say that.” Then he took a deliberate step forward, eyeing all the racks. “Anyways, so Cael! What should we search for first? Look at all the knowledge we can get…”

“You sound more like a nerd than me.”

He snorted. “Bold of you to say when you used the word ‘convoluted’ and whatever ‘hapless’ is earlier.”

“…Regardless, we should try to find clues on how to restore the world. That is our main goal, is it not?”

“Right! Maybe we can ask Tess.” He pointed at the Audino. “The full name’s Tessarda. She’s uh… sweet? Just—quiet. Like really quiet. Just like a broom. Quiet, tired, and only moves when someone nudges her. I don’t think she likes books, which is kinda weird for a librarian, but hey, who am I to talk when I don’t either?”

“Sure.”

We started strolling toward where Tessarda was sweeping.

Oddly, there was no mildew. No musty paper smell, either. Maybe the time loop prevented rotting or the smell from emanating.

“You know, if we’re lucky, she’ll tell us something useful today.”

We passed betwixt two aisles of bookshelves. A tarnished plaque on the left bookcase read ‘Economy’. Of course, this space is the Economy section.

Hm. I suppose it qualifies as history now, considering there is no currency anymore.

I wonder if they have books on bartering tips… perhaps something we could use to exploit Corven, including any other merchant.

…No. Sounds nefarious.

“You sound… familiar with her. Do you come here often?”

Ashen scratched his cheek gently. “Ehh… sometimes. I mean—not lately, but yeah. Back before I started my journey. This place was kinda the only spot that still had… anything, after the Catastrophe. So I figured, ‘hey, might as well learn a bit before playing hero’, right?

“You read? I thought you said you were not into books.”

“Well… I tried to. I just read the shorter ones with all the pictures. Never got interested in the long ones though you probably would… But y’know, effort—that still counts! These dandy books helped me answer your questions!”

“I thought you would know those types of things from experience, would you not?”

“I mostly use them to confirm my knowledge only, nothing else; Except for this one book I really love. It inspired me to start my journey in the first place. I clearly remember being read that book before going to bed once as a Charcadet… Ah, good times.” His voice went soft for a moment. “Came here every now and then just to reread it and take a trip down memory lane.”

That name felt foreign.

“I assume Charcadet is the pre-evolution of Armarouge?”

“Oh, yup, yup! Did I never tell you that?”

“No. You did not. But… does this not mean you never read books afore the Catastrophe?”

“Indeed!”

I squinted. “Why…?”

“Wait—hold that. We’re here!” He perked up, waving a hand. “Hello Tess! Sorry if we forgot to greet you earlier.”

Tessarda was still sweeping when we approached. The broom made a soft whisk against the stone floor.

“Hm? Ashen?” She glanced up mid-sweep, pausing just long enough to acknowledge him. “Why… hello too—You brought a Darkrai with you…?!”

He beamed. “Yeah! I befriended him—”

“We are— Whatever.” I could not reveal too much of my thoughts about him—especially not when I am still unsure.

“—recently! Isn’t that awesome? Trust me, he’s not evil. Call him ‘Cael’.”

Well now I do not have to introduce myself. Great. That was not sarcasm.

“Ah… I see.”

“How have you been, Tess?”

“The same as always… Nothing much. Sometimes it’s boring— Well, I mean, I don’t have to go anywhere so… it’s not bad. I kinda like being here.” She paused. “I assume your little journey is… going well?”

“Well—yeah! I mean. Kinda. We’ve survived this far, at least.” He tilted his head toward me for a moment.

“That is a low bar. Not really… but still low. Slightly lower than average, at least.”

“Okay, fair, but surviving in this world is an accomplishment!”

“If you say so,” she accepted, giving a vague shrug. “I always thought trying so hard was… unnecessary. But you’re stubborn. And stubborn people never listen, so.” Her tone was not biting. Just… resigned. As if she had seen too many kids leave and none return.

“And stubborn people are always the ones who end up saving the world!”

“Sure, Ashen. As expected.” She finally looked at me. “Anyway, Cael. Ah… it’s my first time seeing a Darkrai. You are the one trying to help him, I see? “That’s… fascinating—but I do not want to conduct research on you. Even though I do. To an extent. I mean—a Darkrai like you is rare. Though, who am I to say anything, really. I’ve only known of one other. And that wasn’t… even personal.”

“I am attempting to… ensure he does not die.”

“A noble cause.” She smiled faintly.

This woman seems to hesitate while speaking a lot more than I do… Like she is editing a paper no one asked for in real time. And I am not known for verbal efficiency. Verbal inefficiency, one could say.

“Anyway, what brings you here?” she inquired.

“Oh! Well, we wanted to… see if you had anything about the Catastrophe. So, y’know, we could restore the world,” Ashen answered.

Her eyes flicked up toward the ceiling. “Ah… that.” She walked for a bit and rested the broom against a shelf. “You are, uh… welcome to try. But I… do not actually know where anything is. Not really. I just clean and try not to sneeze on anything sacred. And also protect these from being stolen—not that anyone wants to steal it. Except for you. Yes. You want it, though not to steal it.”

“But… are you not the librarian?” I pointed out.

“I keep the place from collapsing, but if you are looking for an index system or… a grand archive of knowledge? Some sort of database containing all the book titles” She gestured vaguely at the shelves. “It is not here. You will have to find it yourselves. Sorry.”

“Ah, alright. Still, thank you for taking the time to chat with us! It was nice to talk to you again after all this while,” Ashen noted. “See ya later, Tess!”

“Wait! I think I saw this old book that was very cryptic in the Poetry section. Nobody’s ever understood what it meant, and it might be important… Or not. Maybe that was just a very elaborate puzzle made by someone… Still, hope that helps.”

“Gotcha!” he exclaimed.

We walked away as he waved back while I only raised my hand.

I turned toward him. “Now… where is this section?”

“I… don’t actually know.” He gave a lopsided grin. “I’ve mostly roamed downstairs and I didn’t see poetry here so… I guess it’s up there?” He looked up at the mezzanine above.

“Probably, assuming your observations are correct.”

“You’re not gonna fly up there without me, right?” he asked, already squinting suspiciously.

I could… but I will not. Even though it will be much quicker, waiting for him to arrive would be boring.

I shook my head.

“Oh… phew, heh. Alright, let’s go!” He jabbed a finger upward as we marched to the right flight of stairs.

It was… straight—not curved, made of dark-grey stone. Just a regular staircase. No motifs or anything on the balustrade or handrail.

He jogged up ahead of me, taking the stairs two at a time, while I followed slower, scanning the platform as it came into view.

It looked much like the floor below—same rows of evenly spaced bookshelves consisting of thirteen shelves, same section labels bolted to the shelves. The center had a few gaps where tables and the same set of seats were arranged near the railing lining the inner edge, which mirrored the one on the staircase. Nothing special, except that it offered a grand view of the entire library.

“Okay, now where could the Poetry section be…?” He shielded his squeezed eyes as he looked around.

“Try checking the signs as you walk—start from here and head toward the far left. If it is not there, it may be located at the very back. Since it is a single continuous rack, and its alignment differs from the others, it might belong to a separate section.”

He nodded. “Alright… Sounds simple enough.” He turned to the division in front of us. “Well, this one’s the… Psychology section.”

We started moving.

“Art Theory…?” Ashen read aloud. “Can you even get anything from just text when it’s about drawings or what? How do these work?”

“It most likely also includes references. And then… Philosophy. A subject whose point is to create more questions? Interesting.”

“Psychology and Self-Help… Meh, I think I know well enough!”

“I find those kinds of books to be too vague as well. Then… Cultural Studies. It might seem boring at first, but I think this might also have some insights into the legends surrounding this world. It might be related to the Catastrophe. Might be worth looking into if that book does not have anything.”

“You’re right. Then… Drama.”

“That is for you.”

“Hey! I’m not just drama. I mean I practice it sometimes… just for the bit!”

“The bit?”

“Weaponizing it. For comedic purposes. So I can mess with people like you.” He smirked. “Which, by the way, is super effective.”

“What—”

“Ha!” He threw an arm up into the air. “You walked right into that one! Now, the last one… Novels. Really broad, huh? And that should wrap things up! Now time for the back, yes?”

I hummed.

We turned and entered the Novels section—only to find it broken down even further. Each column had its own little subcategory, labeled by a smaller plaque affixed onto the lowest shelf of that column.

“Oh. This wasn’t as broad as I thought.”

“Indeed.”

“Oh wow! Romance, Mystery, Horror!”

“Sci-Fi? Fantasy…? Huh. Turns out these exist. The level of imagination required to write them must be… hefty.”

“What? Ohhh—yeah, I guess for you, it would be!”

“Yes. In my world, this sort of world is considered fantastical—imagined. Unlike here, probably. This is considered mundane to you, yes?”

He rubbed his fingers on his chin. “I mean, the world has been different since the Catastrophe, but, I guess so, heh…”

“In accordance with that, it means I would need to imagine something more impossible than the impossible.” I sighed.

“Don’t worry! I’m sure you’ll get used to the absurdity here after a while… If you’re going to spend the rest of your life here, you might as well. And also, yay! Now I know where to go to read these fantasy novels you recommended.”

“Sure. And now, the back of the area. Through the rule of inference, this must be the poetry section.”

“Yeah! I think there should be a sign somewhere.”

“This one?” I tilted my head toward it briefly.

“Yeah, that!”

It looked like every other subcategory plaque, mounted on the middle, lowermost shelf of the entire row—even though it was meant to label a whole section. Guess whoever installed it had no idea where else to put it, since the Poetry section was sideways along the wall; there are no exposed shelf ends to stick it on.

“Now, what did Tess say about this very cryptic book?”

“That it was very cryptic.” I halted for effect. “And old. Nobody has deciphered it.”

“Well… this is going to be a lot of work. How will we find what she meant?”

“Like she said, it is a book. We can skip the scrolls, tablets and whatever else people might have written poetry on. I fly, so I will check the upper seven while you do the lower six.”

There is a sliding ladder here, but it would simply be inefficient to either have Ashen go up and down every time he needed to move, or have myself move it when I could be checking other parts.

“Okay, okay! Start from here to the right, yeah?”

I started soaring. “Yes. Then go up—or in my case—down, then repeat from right to left. Just call me when you think you have found it and I will come. If you waste my time thrice on something vaguely poetic and call it cryptic, I will also leave you to decipher the entire shelf alone.”

He looked up at me, grinning sheepishly. “Yikes. Okay, harsh.”

I arrived at the top shelf. This one was largely empty, but understandably so—considering that this is the highest level. No one begins their search at the top, and the likelihood of finding something worth the effort decreases inversely with shelf height. Evidently, whoever stocked this section reached the same conclusion and gave up an eighth of the way through.

There are only two books here. Now, what exactly am I looking for? How will I define ‘cryptic’?

Also, I am flying in circles while doing this. I will be while reading through any book as well. Hovering in one place gets tiring, and… there is no ground to stand on up here; my legs are not that long. I wonder what Ashen would think of that.

First, I can dismiss anything reeking of emotional indulgence. I should be able to see that through the title; if it sounds like romantic sighing or navel-gazing, then it is irrelevant. Tess said this book might help Ashen’s pursuit, so it must concern the world itself.

Second… the form must be unclear. Cryptic implies obfuscation. That could mean that it is fragments—some words are blocked out, has unusual language features—such as archaisms, perhaps recursive footnotes, is encoded with some sort of cipher, follows a non-linear structure, and so on. Something unreadable at a glance. Which, frankly, describes every poem I have ever laid eyes on.

Third, I must define the theme—what exactly concerns the world. Mystery alone is not useful. If it is not aligned with Ashen’s purpose, it is a waste of time. The text must involve cycles and systems in some form, seeing that the world operates on that. If the book speaks of decay and rebirth, endings and beginnings, of ruin and reformation… then it is worth reading.

I picked up the first one. The tome was very dusty—like each one that I will encounter—yet that created an oddly satisfying texture.

It was titled ‘Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair’… This is definitely not it.

The print quality was quite clean and uniform. These books were definitely produced, not copied by hand, despite there being no sign of advanced technology here. They must have typed it. A typewriter, maybe. Or—more likely—a teletype, assuming those existed here. 

Telegraphs predate televisions, after all… and this world does seem to follow that same strange sequence of inventions.

That implies mimeographs do exist here. And telephones. And fax machines. Tape recorders. Playback devices. All pieces of modernity that also existed around the same era. I suppose their fate ended up being that of televisions and radios as well.

The second one was titled ‘The Stone That Sank Skyward’. The title is already contradictory, which is a good sign. Stone does not seem directly related to the world, but it may be a metaphor for the lithosphere—arguably what most of the planet consists of.

I skimmed through it.

…Occasionally, the pages would reset. Flick back, snap shut, reopen to the same line. Though during the windows in between, I could still read. It is but a minor inconvenience.

The language was ornate, but not complex. The structure seemed linear.

Oh. I managed to turn a page just prior to the reset; it stayed. Perfect timing, it seems.

I would interpret this to be about hope. It is encouraging, sure… Howbeit, this is not worthy of further review. Perhaps we should have clarified what Tess meant more, back there…

‘Review’?

An idea sprang to mind.

“Ashen!” I shouted from above, waiting to see if he heard.

“Yeah?” He tilted his head upward.

“Gather all the books you believe might match the description. That way, you will not need to call me for each one—we can review them all at once. Process of elimination.” I paused. “Make sure you do not select too many candidates though… You know what will happen.”

A nervous giggle escaped him. “Gotcha…!”

The book also included photographs. Not illustrations—actual photographs. Therefore, I assume film cameras—and to an extent, film projectors—have been found here as well. They are not necessarily electronic, but I wonder if they met the same fate as their wired, electronical companions.

…I should have realized that earlier now that I remember that televisions display audiovisual broadcasts.

I dipped to the shelf below. This had one. Interesting. Even the progression of the amount of books is not straight.

‘Leaves of Grass’? For a poetry book, this sounds too literal. No.

The next one had three books.

‘Divine Comedy’… I did not come here for comedy.

‘The Fifth Silence’? Did silence happen five times in this world…? That sounds an awful lot like what the Catastrophe is.

I read through it briefly. The book is linear, divided into five chapters regarding various kinds of silences. Cryptic? Not overtly; there is no cipher nor linguistic convolution. Just pure poetry and abstract implications, except for the page of the fifth silence which is just… blank. Natheless, this seems worthy of review, considering that the themes are deep and universal…

I placed it in the satchel, where the notebook Corven gave us lies.

The next row also had three books.

‘The Book of Nightmares’. How fitting for me. But, we are not looking for nightmare poetry. I can always read this later. Unless… the nightmare refers to the Catastrophe.

I glanced at it. Fragmented prose… Cryptic enough. It speaks of birth, decay, cycles—endings, yes, but only personal ones. Some threads could parallel the world’s ruin, though at last, it is inward-facing. Nonetheless, this makes it even more interesting. I will read this later. Back to the shelf it goes.

‘Hymns of the Sea’… The sea is not the world.

‘The Crying Book’? Perhaps this might make so many tears flow onto the book that at some point it starts dripping from it—creating an illusion of crying, but no. Added to my reading list. Only to test whether it could provoke anything in me; call it a challenge.

…

I will jot it down in the notebook later. 

The fifth one, correspondingly, has five.

‘A Thousand Mornings’. Sounds too optimistic.

I yawned. The lack of sleep gets to me when it is quiet.

‘The Lantern’s Last Flame’… Could the lantern being put out be a metaphor for time breaking here?

I scanned the poems. No mention of systems, patterns, or cause—only images of everything—except time—fading. Just as I expected. It will not help us understand the world. Only how to mourn it…

I do not want to learn how to mourn things. It will make me grieve what I have lost more. To the shelf it returned.

‘Crush’? Crushes as in an intense momentary feeling of unexpressed romantic love, or crush as in damaging something by compressing an extremely forcefully? Either way, this does not seem like it would help.

‘Eunoia’… A good mind. The cover is intriguing.

I opened it to the table of contents. ‘Chapter A’, ‘Chapter E’, and the rest of the vowels. These chapters actually had words. Cryptic by design, but not meaning. Fascinating. I shall read this later.

‘A Thousand Letters to My Past Self’?

…

I glanced away. Disqualified.

…And now, the sixth shelf. Four books.

‘Tender Buttons’. What buttons are we talking about here? A button to activate the Catastrophe? A button like that would truly be tender.

…Oh. Just unconventional ways to describe everyday objects. Cryptic, but not in a meaningful way.

‘Poems’… That definitely is a poetic way to describe poems.

‘Ariel’? This is definitely not it.

‘— – - ·’… What kind of book is this? Morse code?

I skimmed through it. The poems start out normal. Lyrical. Figurative, but clear. Just like any other poem. But… something odd happens as the book goes on. Ellipses start appearing more frequently, words are blacked out, and entire poems are cut mid-thought.

By the end, it is more black space than language. The final page holds only a single dot. It does not explain itself. It offers no conclusion. An unraveling of your mind and memories—one page at a time. How… sound. But this is still not the target.

Let us move on from such… dismayingly profound works.

And now… the last one.

Five books again.

‘Pillow Thoughts’. We have ‘shower thoughts’, and now we have… ‘sleep thoughts’?

I opened the table of contents—or more accurately, ‘the table of thoughts’.

Oh.

‘If you are heartbroken’…

…‘If you are sad’.

‘If you are lonely’…

…‘If you need a reason to stay’.

‘These are for you.’

…

I—

I… am not ready for this. How presumptuous. Why would I need it anyway?

I quickly shut it and returned it with the cover facing away from me. It is sentimental. Just… unfiltered emotion. No systems, no cycles, no insight into the world—only… personal grief. Love. Suffering.

(Is that not exactly what your heart is filled with? Is this not what you want? Someone who understands it?)

No. It is just irrelevant. There is no need to indulge in it now.

(You are lying.)

I never lie to myself. Why would I?

I glanced down to track Ashen’s progress. He has laid his bindle down, clutching books between the armpit of his left arm instead now. Having reached the taller end of the lower shelves, he was now hopping—actually hopping—to grab the books.

It looked exhausting. He did not seem to care; in fact, he appeared to enjoy it. Infinite stamina, of course—just like he said.

He grinned when he succeeded. I could not decide whether this was impressive or reckless… or something else entirely.

Anyways, onto the next book. This one was titled ‘The Waste Land’. Well, the title is an accurate description of how the world looks like after the Catastrophe.

I skimmed through it. The chapters seem to be nonlinear… but they do have a connection in theming. As the title suggests, it talks of barren land. The content is really disconnected, full of abrupt scene-jumps and shifting narrators. Even the book expects the reader to be a polyglot. Yet another brazen book, but mayhaps, this could be it. Therefore, I stored it into the satchel.

‘Don’t Let Me Be Lonely’… That suggests emotional longing, so no.

‘Averno’? I do not know what that word means.

A quick read tells me that these poems are, bizzarely, not flowery, but… restrained. Stark. The tone is bleak. Many parts seem to concern descent. Into the underworld. If I were generous, this could be a metaphor for the fall of the world following the Catastrophe, though it is not the world that falls apart here—but rather the speaker. I cannot use this…

‘Petals on the Water’… Too flowery. Literally.

And that is the last of it.

I looked down. “Are you done?”

Ashen did not answer. He was still standing there, holding his bindle with his right hand, gaze locked upward, fixed on me. “So this is what Darkrai looks like from under,” he said softly, as if he was stunned.

“…Ashen?” I repeated, sharper.

He fluttered his eyes repeatedly. “Huh? Oh? Yes, yes! I’m ready. Got some worthy books already.”

I came back down. “What were you doing anyway?”

“Uhh…” He looked away and started scratching the back of his neck. “Nothing, nothing! Just… y’know, appreciating the architecture.” He finally turned back toward me.

“The architecture.”

“Yup. The ceiling’s cool. Very ceiling-y.”

“You know, you are worse at lying than I thought.”

“Okay, okay! I was just… staring at you—but like, not weirdly, get it? Just kinda surprised, you could say. I’ve never seen you from that angle. And I wouldn’t want to just fold your skirt-thingy open like that. Wait—that sounds worse like that. Forget I said that. Please forget I said that.”

“Actually, they get implanted deeper into my memory when I try to forget things.”

“Okay, but… please don’t mind me.”

“I do not.”

“Oh? Well… good!” he blurted. “Anyways, books! Table time?”

“…Yes.”

“Okay, which one?”

“Whichever is the nearest to us.”

“That one?” He pointed to the set near the left stairway—though from our angle, it was the right.

“Yes.”

He nodded.

“By the way, what did my underside look like?”

“Uhh…” He rested his hand on his cheek. “Okay, in the simplest way I can put it, the entire… skirt-thingy is—”

“I believe that is a cloak. Not a skirt.”

“Okay, okay! Cloak. Fine.” He gestured broadly toward it. “The entire cloak is just… empty. Like, there’s nothing under there. Which I guess is why it can fold so weird. And then yeah, your really, really thin waist—that’s where your torso ends. It doesn’t keep going inside the cloak or anything. And like, assuming your little stick legs come from there, they’re totally invisible while retracted. Like, I can not see the exact point where it comes from. The exact circle—the base. I mean, it does make sense ‘cause it’s really dark there and who knows—it might even merge with your skin when retracted so it’s not visible at all. Your little stick legs come out from there. But when they’re retracted? They’re totally invisible. Like—I cannot see any base. No seam, no fold, nothing. It’s just… gone. And yeah, it’s super dark under there, but even with light, I’m pretty sure it’s not just shadows. It’s like your skin melds closed when the legs go in. Like dough, almost.”

“Interesting observations. Unexpectedly long, though.”

“I pour my heart and science into this vivid description of your shadow cloak spaghetti legs, and this is how you thank me?!”

“I did not ask for it.”

“Excuse me for giving a detailed and thorough report! I was trying to help you figure out your own body!”

“Also, never say ‘shadow cloak spaghetti legs’ again.”

Ashen snickered at that. And it exploded into a guffaw.

“What?”

“You—you just said it— hah! —the whole phrase!” he choked out between gasps.

“I simply quoted it.”

He stopped himself with a wheeze, body leaning forward briefly. “Nooo, non non non! ” He wagged a finger at me. “You don’t get to say ‘shadow cloak spaghetti legs’ and walk away like a dignified villain after a monologue. That’s my phrase now. You’re tainted.”

“Tainted?”

“Linguistically compromised!”

“This is absurd.”

“ You are absurd! In a spaghetti way!”

I inhaled, before looking ahead again. “…And here we are. Sit down, lay out all the books, then we can start reviewing.”

He nodded, that stupid grin still on his face. ‘Spaghetti way’?

We set to work, sitting beside each other. The table was round, while the seats were plain wooden chairs. Nothing worth commenting on.

“Whose selections shall we review first?” I inquired.

“Yours, I guess. I mean, you’re the smart one here, after all, heh!”

“Not necessarily. Admittedly, I have never been adept at interpreting poems.”

“Well, that’s why we’re gonna go through it together!”

I hummed. “Well, this is what I have obtained. The selection of books up there were quite… limited. First is ‘The Fifth Silence’.”

“That name sure is interesting! I mean… it feels like the world has gone still since the Catastrophe happened. Who knows if that fifth silence is the Catastrophe?”

“Indeed. Let us study this book further.”

I opened the first chapter: ‘The Silence Before Thought’. The paper was dry and wrinkled, texture somewhere between smooth and rough. The faint ridges felt just right under my finger, giving off a pleasing resistance to my touch…

…Enough rubbing.

The first line read: ‘Eons ago, nothing knew how to name itself.’

We turned the pages in silence as Ashen traced the lines of text. I tried to follow his slower pace the best I could.

The origin of thought? A time before consciousness existed? A metaphor for prehistory? I could not tell if it was reaching for something grand… or simply stalling for meaning.

The last line read: ‘The first voice still waits to be remembered.’

Philosophical, but no insight. Only lament.

The next one was ‘The Silence Between Empires’.

Eh?

The page fluttered, like it could not decide if it was open or shut.

“So… you're fine with this, right?” Ashen asked, eyeing the jittery paper.

“Suboptimal, but manageable.”

“Alright, alright. Just checking. Looked like it offended you.”

“I am accustomed to… worse,” I confessed.

“Well… I’m gonna hope this book still ranks lower than ‘worse’.”

“I can… handle it.”

“You shouldn’t have to… but okay.”

We resumed reading.

‘What we forgot builds the foundation for what we pretend to remember.’

Just like the title suggests, this refers to empty, historical gaps. Times when nothing managed to be recorded.

‘And it rose again, not knowing what was buried under.’

This acknowledges decay, but it is still retrospective. It reads as a postmortem, not a warning. 

The third silence is ‘The Silence Following Creation’. The paper gave a slight crinkle as I folded it, though… that should be fine; that was just another small mark added to its many. My hands have never been the best at flipping pages smoothly.

‘Some things fly higher than birds can.’

This might be about forgotten knowledge; we do not create truths—just uncover them. And once forgotten, they rarely return. But… do things not fall eventually anyway? Whatever.

‘What vanishes, never returns.’

Perhaps… an allegory for dimensional decay?

Next, ‘The Silence of the Mind’.

‘Even the stars have forgotten how to shine.’

Ashen’s finger—or perhaps fingers—paused on the line. He did not say anything, but he seemed more focused on this part.

Well, this one is definitely more internal, referencing emotional fallout and despair. Symbolic of psychological collapse after a disaster.

Also, stars shine on their own. What does not shine on their own are black holes.

‘It is easier to forget than to endure.’

…

I flipped the page, a little stiffer than usual.

And finally, we reached the last chapter, and it contained… nothing. It was untitled.

“How literal,” I commented. “Or poetic. True silence in the form of pages. The absence of content is useless.”

“Yeah… I don’t like this one. It just gives up.”

“Of course you do not.”

Ashen smirked. “Heh, but I know you do!”

I scoffed. “You know nothing.”

“That's the kind of thing someone says when they're seen, y’know.”

“You admitted it yourself once. You do not know everything.”

“Now that I can get behind. I know you like it. The silence.”

“That was absence.”

He tilted his head. “Is there a difference?”

I stared at the blank pages, and then closed the book. “True silence… holds. That one did not have anything to hold.”

“Hold… what?”

“…You would not understand.”

“Try me.”

“We do not have time for that.”

“Fine. But you better do it when we're done with this! So, what do you think of this one?”

“It speaks of decay, but the cycle is never fully completed with rebirth. If anything, the book does not seem to believe in the idea of restoration. This is not helpful.”

“Did you notice? It only ever says what happened, but not why, not how… not how to fix any of it.”

“That is true. An elegy, yes.”

“Okay, this isn’t it… Besides, this seems like something people would’ve deciphered already.” He shook his head and pushed the book aside. “Now, onto the next one!”

He picked the book up and read the title out loud, “‘The Waste Land’?”

“Title says most of it,” I replied. “There is also some text in different languages which I could identify right now—though I do not want to—at the front of the cover.”

He set the book down and pressed his palms together—it was not quite a clap. “Alright! Let’s start.” Then he turned them outward and opened the first chapter: ‘The Burial of the Dead’. 

The first line read, ‘April is the cruelest month, breeding’.

This book is even more cryptic than the last one. If I had to guess, this is about something resurfacing. Perhaps… buried damage returning. Spring does not heal, it just reveals the best that was buried previously.

The last line read, ‘You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!’ I do not speak French.

Is this telling us to just wait until spring comes?

The second chapter was titled ‘A Game of Chess.’

‘The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne…’

Two voices speaking past one another. One decorative and cruel, the other collapsing. A power imbalance, maybe. The dynamic is like winning and losing in a game of chess.

‘Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.’

Is this a metaphor for societal tension? Hm… Appearances can indeed be deceiving.

Next, ‘The Fire Sermon’.

‘The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf…’

This fire is not cleansing. The world is burning for no reason, consuming its fuel with renewal. Not sure what fire would cleanse anyway, though. 

‘…O Lord Thou pluckest / burning’. What does the previous line mean?

I am not sure such destruction exists here right now. This one is a stiller kind.

Then, we have ‘Death by Water’.

‘Phlebas of the Sea Roads, a fortnight dead…’

Ashen’s chair creaked slightly while we read this.

I think it tries to sterilize dying. The water just swallows without washing nor baptizing. Ashen might… But for me? I am not sure yet.

‘Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.’

One page only. How succinct.

The last one is ‘What the Thunder Said’.

‘After the torchlight red on sweaty faces…’

The world collapses. Then, something—the thunder—speaks. But we do not understand it. Not entirely. The guidance is not actionable.

‘Shantih shantih shantih’. Is this some Hindu language? Sanskrit?

Not useful… And that was it. I closed the book carefully and put it on top of ‘The Fifth Silence’.

“So… what do you think?” Ashen leaned back, his arms crossed behind his head. “That was… intense.”

I nodded, slowly. “It is… quite cryptic. Hard to interpret.”

‘“Oh? You thought it was hard?”

“Indeed. Even then, I can see that it offers nothing to apply. No instructions nor strategy.”

“Agreed. Plus, don'tcha think that this is something someone would’ve managed to interpret already?”

I hummed in response.

“Yeah… I don’t like this one either. And you probably don't, this time around. Okay, time for my picks!” He picked the topmost book from his stack of two. “Firstly, this one! ‘Broken Hours’.” Then he laid it down.

We started reading it.

The pages were smoother than the previous books. It might be new… or—a more unfortunate possibility—not favored by readers. Ashen's tracing pace changed occasionally depending on how dense the verse is—though to be fair, each verse in a poetry book should be dense. Maybe it was actually how much the verse means to him.

It seemed to be about cycles. But not grand ones—metaphorical, personal ones filled with grief, presented as temporal distortion; this is where the title of the book comes from. I believe it aimed to examine how time feels instead of how it moves, the mind's inability to track time or meaning when it is wounded. Broken cycles of rest, of thought. The metaphors were rhythmic, gentle even when bleak.

Yes, I have lived that. It… understands that, perhaps more intimately than any of the others.

The last line read, ‘But still, the lamp has lost its will to shine.’

Nevertheless, that is all it offers: understanding. Of the what, as usual. No context for the world’s collapse.

Ashen leaned back. “Eh, not that useful for saving the world. Burnout stuff.”

I closed the book and nodded.

“But, it doesn’t mean it’s not helpful, don’t you think so? Did you feel it?” he asked with a softer voice now.

“No.”

“But you didn’t blink for like, two pages! Doesn’t that mean something?”

“I was reading.”

“Yeah, reading deeply.”

I leaned back, crossing my arms and closing my eyes for a moment. “Of course I need to. We need to conclude if these books are what Tess meant within a rather superficial review, considering we have more things to do after this.” Then I opened them again. “Besides, that is just how I read normally.”

Ashen tilted his head, watching me a little too intently for comfort. “Sure, but maybe it’s trying to tell us how it feels to be broken. That’s kind of useful, isn’t it?”

“Where is the usefulness… when I already know how that feels?”

Something about his gaze changed. “Oh. I see. Uh, yeah, okay! Let’s move on to the last book.”

He put the book on the stack, then grabbed the last one. “Then this should… be it, right? Found it at the very corner.”

“What an odd placement. But yes—it should be, unless we missed something.” I responded.

He slid the final book between us, careful, like he already knew it mattered.

I only nodded, eyes fixed on the faded cover. The book looked really old, though it had no crinkles, as if nobody had cared enough to read it—decipher it.

Even if I doubted it, I hoped that this will have something useful to say.

Chapter Text

The book’s cover was dull. On it was the Latin title, ‘Constructione Visorum: Articulatio Divide’. I… do not know what that means exactly, though I can guess. Still, this is just the title—which is unimportant; I hope the entire book is not in Latin.

I looked at its thickness. Twelve pages, perchance. Is that considered underwhelming? I am not a poetry expert, so I do not know the standard—though if it managed to get published, it should qualify.

Although to be fair, the book’s pages were bigger than any other we have reviewed so far. Maybe even out of everything I have seen.

“That is not… very many,” I stated curtly.

He waved a hand dismissively. “Well, that’s fine! Just trust my picks, okay?”

“I do not—at least, fully.”

“Nah…! That just means it has a lot to say. Dense, y’know?”

“Or… it was unfinished. Or it had nothing much to say.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Most things like that tend to be.”

He ignored that. “Well, let’s see what it says!”

We turned to the first page. In the center was the title, again—with a small footnote, reading, ‘Materia Studiorum Auctoritate Probata — Non Ad Disseminandum.’

“What does this mean now?”

“This is in Latin. I am not a Latin speaker myself, but I can see that these words are all roots of English words. If I had to guess, it means ‘Prohibited Authorized Study Material, Not For Dissemination’.”

“What does dissemination mean?”

“Distribution.”

“Oh! Okay, okay! That makes a lot of sense. Sounds really mysterious. If it says that then… it might really not have been deciphered at all throughout all these years.” He clapped. “This might be what Tess meant! Cael, do you feel good about this book?”

“I am… in the middle.” I waved my hand back and forth as if I was approximating. “I can guess the meanings of these Latin words—but if the entire book is like this… I would rather not deal with the hassle of translating it all. There are some words that did not become integrated into English.”

“Don’t worry! I’m sure you’d be a good translator with your intuition. Like, maybe try it with the title now!”

I stared at it for a good while. “Construction… Vision… Articulation… Divide?”

“Ha-ha! See? I told you you were good at this.”

“That was barely a sentence.”

“But still, that actually sounds kinda cool. Like it’s gonna show us how to build something important. When you’re constructing something, you must have a vision, right? And also divisions.”

“I suppose so.” I exhaled, then flipped to the next page. The left side of the spread was empty, the contents only starting from the right.

Hilsener, til dem som har klart å løse stillheten fra skriften—
Hvis disse meningsløse symbolene nå danner mening i ditt sinn, tror vi at du er verdig nøkkelen.
Du står der få var ment å stå. Veien hit var bratt med vilje.
Vi begravde svaret under metaforer og gåter, ikke for å være grusomme, men varsomme.
Vi kunne ikke la slik kunnskap falle i uforsiktige hender igjen, etter hendelsen.
Likevel trengte lyset et kar å skinne gjennom—skulle historien noen gang våge å gjenta seg. Det usette skillet kan ennå trenge å bli helbredet.
Hvis du har kommet hit med rettferdighet som mål, og et ærefullt behov, så les videre.
(Og hvis ditt hjerte er falskt…
måtte denne boken forbli et mysterium for deg, i all evighet.)
– En vokter av den aksiale kløften

“What in the world…?” Ashen started. “Do you know what language this is?”

“These words… They do not sound too far off from English. This should be a Germanic language, then. The letters… I think I see them in Scandinavian place names.”

“Scandinavia?”

“Do you not know? Sweden, Denmark, Norway…”

“Oh! Oui, oui, I know, okay? But here, we call it Scandia. And also, here, what I think you mean by Sweden is called Svithiod here.”

“I see. Well, Swedish has a variation of a and o with two dots above it… So this should either be Danish or Norwegian. I squinted at the lines again. “I have heard that speaking Danish sounds like someone choking on a potato. This is much clearer. I know some Norwegian. I think I recognize a few of these words.”

“Cool! So you can translate everything?”

“No. I would recommend fetching a Norwegian dictionary from downstairs, if you can find one.”

“On it—”

“Wait. I said ‘recommend’. I did not tell you to go.” I kept my gaze on the page. “This book has been in every language except English so far. I want to check whether it is written in anything else—ciphers, more foreign languages—before we waste time. It would be more efficient to gather everything we need in one trip.” I gave him a glance. “Even if you supposedly have ‘infinite stamina’, running back and forth is inefficient. And annoying. ”

Ashen gave me a thumbs-up. I turned the page again.

It was the same as last time. The text started on the recto.

.pe zja kp ax zhqks aiep naphw kp nkB
,oaeh je ikpjwdl hwukh w zjqkx pE
.jkerehxk bk nwab iknb pqx ,ikzoes iknb pkj cjehqn
,jewian kp cjeswhy ,hwienL adp aokn aywhl ope jE
.ooajhhepo je jewl ope zanqzja zhnks adp ,hhab pe jadS
.newlan zjkuax zajewnz—pjaheo jadp ,naiiez ,pdcenx pjnqx aieP bk pjaeyjW adP .zahxianp anelo adP
.jeqn zaznwqc uadp anwswjq ,aokn onkpyapknL
.onwa cjejapoeh kpje jkowanp zanaloeds ad
,oswhy oed je jkeoqhhe zjw ,aqcjkp zappes-lnwdo ope je ikjar dpeS
.zanappwyo anas oahyney zadpkkp adP
.ooajapwyehaz panyao ope—ioejwdyai adp zajnwah pE
.cjeiiqd adp znwad zjw oskzwdo adp dcqkndp zanadpeho pywL o’nalaahO adp onaraO kdS ajK adp pqX
.cjejjelo zhnks adp cjelaag uhcjezjkloannky—cjejjelo ,jwn uadp ,pjqki ope bk peiiqo adp pw zankdyjW
.phwxky bk opnwad areb zacnkb onqkD bk nalaaG adp ,kcw cjkH

gnkspaJ zaswhB adP

“Oh my…”

“This is really cryptic to the point of being untranslatable.”

“Indeed. So first of all, this is clearly backwards—though it still does not make sense even when reversed…”

“Do you know what this is?”

“Back in my world, jumbled strings of text like so usually indicate that it had been encoded with the Caesar cipher. Or the shift cipher.”

“What’s that?”

“It is a way of encrypting messages by shifting the letters of the alphabet by a specific number. So, if the shift is two, ‘a’ would become ‘c’, and so on. Here, we simply need to figure out how much it is shifted by to decode it.”

Just as Ashen could even fully respond, I was already digging into the satchel, reaching for the notebook Corven gave us.

“I… think I get it. Oh, wait, our notebook!” he said just as I withdrew it. “Write all the encryption methods down there—”

I flipped my wrist outward, displaying the cover like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Did you really think I would forget that?” I rested it on my… lap—covered by my cloak, then pulled the pencil out of the pen loop. I inspected it closely to check if it had chipped while we were carrying; it was still as blunt as back then, good.

“Well, I, personally, almost forgot about it, so… yeah! Also, what’s there?”

“I do not know. Corven slipped it here for us. Time to see.” I opened the notebook to the page it naturally split at—held in place by whatever had been hidden there.

“An… eraser? But where’s the sharpener? The pencil’s almost completely dull!”

“I…” I glanced at it again. That was true. I rested a hand on my temple, frowning. This might be a problem, unless…

“I… believe that Corven must have accounted for this. He does not seem to be the type to overlook something this simple. Moreover, he would not waste his resources only to give us something… unusable.

“You’re saying this was… planned?”

“Hopefully it was. If not… we can just ask him for another one again, right? We can still recall information without having to note it down.”

“Right.”

I wrote across the inside cover in large diagonal strokes: ‘Joint Expedition Journal: Ashen / Cael’. That should be good enough for a title. Ashen is first because… he is the first alphabetically.

Not that the order matters, anyway.

I glanced at Ashen. He was watching me write, intently.

Then, on the first page, I scrawled, ‘The Encryption Methods for Each Page of This Weird Latin-Titled Poetry Book’, then began a rough, unordered list of what we’d gathered so far. Page one: Latin. Page two: Norwegian. Page three: reverse Caesar cipher.

As I went to slide the pencil back into its loop, I gave the tip another glance—curious to see how much graphite had worn away. Mayhaps, I could calculate how long we can use it until it runs out.

It had not changed. Not even a little. How strange. It was as if writing consumed nothing at all.

This suggests that pencils do not decay normally, being affected by the time loop. They will just reset back to their original state periodically.

But then… what about writing, then?

Hm… it is still there in the book. The pages held the markings exactly as I’d written them—clear, untouched. So it retains user input, but reverts its tools?

Weird. Since text is just an extremely thin layer of whatever material the writing utensil contains, does that not contradict the law of conservation of mass and energy?

…Then again, the Pokémon world was never famous for obeying physics. Nor biology. Particularly now that I remember that mystery dungeons and flux zones spawn items out of nowhere.

I closed the notebook and put it on the table, beside the book.

“Yes…” I murmured. “As I expected, Corven had anticipated this.”

“What?”

“The time loop works on pencils too. This will never be completely worn down. Interestingly, it does not work on text, though.”

“O-oh! That’s great! Yeah…” He scratched the back of his head slowly.

“Should you not know this?”

“Hey!” He leaned back, arms partially supinated, the right stretched farther. “You said it yourself! I don’t know everything! I’ve never written stuff—how would I know this?” He flailed it around with each sentence.

“Well, it was inferable.”

“Excuse you?! I’m not a loop-o…logist, Cael! I don’t go around reverse-engineering the physics of a pencil! I have more important things to think about!”

I tilted my head. “Like imagining inane backstories for dead trees?”

“Espèce de—!”literally “Species of—!”, although it's more used in the sense of “Why you—!”

“Now, now, we have more important things to study.”

He only groaned. I flipped the book to the next page. This time, the verso was actually filled.

TSeg crh udrn fteCokokeniohlw

W rafea esihohi e hntehateto h lntfdd oddta ftewn,tervr.eheb tpea, t dhis
Drsti hotw ,a eue ors,ngtfro o oedyfd ei ghtn
athew rlae og.n h evn eeeenlypitdagom rydeasrta n lya
Ael sibatasrdesu h kd rs efgitnn eet h se are h atpleo oebcwr,fhalegnhehcitl sfpaa
w eibthntefr tl un,ehislr
ugelfeno tFssn h epo h ikVieo h oetith tP cfer.
W e n hobkn eetehea eihtoohr,ukont itr u nw oft,h ahrdtesprtdcrstwtsnwosytota ge aeo.
We c mtslehr epukdte,sai olwdehleh sfo.
Cen,e-ru eodosqety h ob eceswr cre.nulttesresn
Htperueofc, tie egh eta h rtcosgaddmr ireytels wnl fhp ih aegn u.deot r eelhatkoomtvoo
Oohn fte…e m
wtst s,a h aoerhmefsebuil
wits eo ut eanern h aefc rmaftr hthdnvrhpee.agemaf ueaae pd
Bveei.d t ti ou egac ald n oddtelnenta uddn n.tnnfeAsiharhgeoe
An dspn o,tesao lesdwhhwe.
Mie ea tnvrwk.y ea
Twdsvh ol a ae.erwsd

“Interesting…”

“Do you recognize this? Is this some kind of… evil paragraph?”

“This has no natural word breaks. It cannot be the Caesar cipher again. The book does not seem to favor repeating encryption methods anyway.”

I stared at the mess.

“So?”

“I… might. I am not really sure. I have rarely encountered something like this back then.”

“What’s coming into your mind?”

“It is a kind of cipher where the characters of the hidden message are written in a horizontal zigzag then read off row by row. Down, then up, by a certain number—which is the key, I think. Similar to the Caesar cipher. I do not remember its name.”

“How about we call it the zigzag cipher? For now, of course—until we find out its actual name. ‘Cause… you said it.”

“Sure.”

And we continued.

18 8 5 1B 13 19 12 4 24 16 5 3 1 17 18 18 8 53

3 13 7 17 8 1 4 3 16 1 3 B 5 4 23 18 9 11 5 9 18 17 5 10 6 8 1 4 17 8 1 18 18 5 16 5 4 13 12 5 23 1 12 4 18 8 5 18 21 16 1 12 18 13 6 1B 8 5 12 3 13 19 10 4 12 13 18 10 5 18 17 19 3 8 18 16 9 2 19 10 1 18 9 13 12 2 5 6 1 10 10 18 8 5 5 1 16 18 8 1 7 1 9 12 23 17 13 24 9 18 7 1 18 8 5 16 5 4 9 18 17 17 18 16 5 12 7 18 8 1 12 4 1B 8 1 18 6 16 1 7 11 5 12 18 17 16 5 11 1 9 12 5 4 24 18 13 3 16 5 1 18 5 1 12 5 1B 3 13 16 5 23 12 13 18 6 9 1A 5 24 2 19 18 13 12 5 23 17 18 5 1 4 21 24 5 12 3 1 17 5 4 24 1 12 4 8 9 4 4 5 12 17 13 11 5 1B 8 5 16 5 23 17 13 11 5 1B 8 5 16 5 1B 8 5 16 5 5 1 3 8 17 18 5 14 3 10 9 11 2 5 4 17 B 9 14 17 21 13 19 1 12 8 13 19 16 6 13 16 1B 1 16 4 23 17 13 11 5 1B 8 5 16 5 1B 8 9 3 8 8 5 10 4 18 8 5 16 13 13 18 13 6 18 8 5 9 17 17 19 5 23 17 13 11 5 1B 8 5 16 5 1B 8 5 16 5 18 8 5 13 12 5 1B 8 13 1B 1 18 3 8 5 17 1 10 10 6 19 18 19 16 5 17 16 5 17 9 4 5 17 23 9 18 1B 1 17 11 13 16 5 18 8 1 12 1 12 13 2 A 5 3 18 24 2 19 18 1 4 13 13 16 1B 1 21 24 10 5 1 4 9 12 7 9 12 1B 1 16 4 24 18 13 18 8 5 16 5 1 10 11 1B 8 5 16 5 18 8 5 10 13 16 4 13 6 18 9 11 5 11 5 12 4 5 4 8 13 19 16 17 19 12 17 5 5 12 23 9 18 1B 1 17 17 5 1 10 5 4 23 18 8 5 11 9 17 10 5 4 7 19 1 16 4 17 1B 5 16 5 7 9 1A 5 12 1 12 5 1B 18 16 19 18 8 24 1 12 4 17 1B 13 16 12 18 13 18 8 9 17 7 16 5 1 18 5 16 18 1 17 B 10 5 18 12 13 12 5 17 5 5 24 12 13 16 16 5 1 3 8 18 8 5 17 14 8 5 16 5 23

“Numbers with occasional letters…” I mumbled.

Ashen leaned closer. “Is this book supposed to be understandable or not?”

“There has to be a way to interpret it into a coherent message. If ‘F’ was the highest letter here I would assume a hexadecimal system… or something. But this time around, it is ‘B. Since B is the second letter of the alphabet, then this should be a duodecimal system. Usually, in my world, the values of the letters are matched to their ASCII counterparts—so they always come out as a two-digit number. However, even single-digit numbers are present here…”

“Hexadecimal? Duodecimal? ASCII? Cael, you’re confusing me…”

“In the simplest way I can put it, ASCII—American Standard Code for Information Interchange—is a set that defines the numerical values of 28 non-number characters so that they can be represented in binary for computer processing. A hexadecimal system is a number system using sixteen as its base, rather than ten. Finally, a duodecimal system is the same, but replace sixteen with twelve,” I explained.

“And how does that work?”

“I am not sure. I have never used hexadecimal systems… but I will try figuring out the pattern once we start deciphering this page.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“I was something of a ‘tech nerd’, one could say,” I mentioned. “For university, I planned to major in computer science. Prior to turning into a Pokémon, that is.”

“Ahhh! So that’s what you were gonna study instead of biology…” He paused. “Wait—you haven’t gone to university?”

“…Huh.” I tilted my head. “You know what computers are?”

“Uh? What? Well, yeah. They took an insane amount of space and time to actually… compute— so they weren't exactly popular. And also, I’ve heard of them in TVs—processing stuff from remotes, y’know? That kind of thing. Pretty awesome, not gonna lie…” He looked down, voice dropping. “But whatever would come after, we never got there. We cannot. Not anymore.”

“I see.”

In retrospect… I should not have been surprised. Personal computers never made it here, but televisions did, and so should have the ENIAC—or this world's equivalent of its name. Of course some understanding lingered.

Ashen perked up. “Wait—wait. You dodged my question! You think you can trick me like that?!”

“I did not mean to,” I said. “It simply felt like the right moment to bring that up. But yes. I… never went.”

“Really? But you…— How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Sev—? Are you sure? I mean, you’ve forgotten so much stuff already, y’know. Who’s to say it didn’t mess with your—your… memory, or whatever that part is that remembers stuff like that?”

“Yes. This one… I remember clearly.”

“I still…” His brows were furrowed, but it was not doubt. Just… disbelief. “You act like you’re forty. Or, heck—maybe sixty even! Like, ancient. And Corven’s only 49, but even he doesn’t talk like you! He jokes around and you don’t!”

“Thank you, I suppose. But this is just how I regularly act.”

Ashen gawked at me. I could not read what it meant, but it was not confused, nor annoyed. He just stared—like he was trying to piece something together and did not like what the picture was looking like. He then muttered, not breaking eye contact, “Wow. And to think this guy’s only one year older than me…” He gave a crooked smile. “Haha…”

“Are you done? And also, the way you keep laughing at me suggests that I do make jokes. I suppose… your sense of humor is as bad as mine.”

He snapped out of it. “What?! ‘Bad’?! How dare you? Well… Corven actually tries! You just—blurt stuff out. With that deadpan face. Out of the blue, and accidentally. Yet… somehow it’s funnier.” He groaned and looked up. “This is so unfair!”

I blinked at him as I turned the page without even looking. “Tragic.”

.- .-.. - . .-. .- / ...- ..- .-.. -. ..- ...

-.. ..- -- / - . -- .--. ..- ... / -.-. --- -. ... ..- . -... .- - ..- .-. --..-- / ... .--. .- - .. ..- -- / - .- -- . -. / .--. . .-. --. . -... .- - / ... .- -. --. ..- .. -. .- .-. . .-.-.- / - . .-. .-. .- / -.-. --- -. - --- .-. - .- / . ... - .-.-.- / ...- .. .- . / . ...- .- -. ..- . .-. ..- -. - .-.-.- / .- .-. -.-. .- -. ..- -- / .- .-.. - .. ..- ... / ..-. .- -.-. - ..- -- / . ... - --..-- / . - / -- ..- .-.. - .. .--. .-.. .. -.-. .- - ..- -- .-.-.- / ... .. / .... --- -.-. / .--. . .-. ... . ...- . .-. . - --..-- / -- ..- -. -.. ..- ... / ..-. .-. .- -. --. .- - ..- .-. / ..- .-.. - .-. .- / -. .- ...- .. --. .- - .. --- -. . -- .-.-.- / -. . -.-. / -.. --- -- ..- ... / .. .- -- / ...- --- -.-. .- .-. .. / .--. --- ... ... .. - .-.-.- / .. - .- --.- ..- . --..-- / .. ... / --.- ..- .. / .-.. --- -.-. .- / - . -..- .. - / . - .. .- -- / ... --- .-.. ..- - .. --- -. . ... / --.- ..- .- . ... .. ...- .. - .-.-.- / . -..- / ... ..- .- / . -. . .-. --. .. .- --..-- / --- .-. -... .. ... / .- .-.. - . .-. / .- -.. / ...- .. - .- -- / ... ..- .-. .-. . -..- .. - .-.-.- / -. --- -. / .. -. / -- --- -. ..- -- . -. - --- / -- .- --. -. .. ..-. .. -.-. --- / ... . -.. / .. -. / .-.. --- -.-. --- / ... .--. .. .-. .- .-.. .. --..-- / -- ..- - .- -... .. .-.. .. --..-- / . - / ...- .- -.-. ..- --- .-.-.- / .-.. --- -.-. --- / ..- -... .. / --- -- -. .. ... / .--. .- ... ... ..- ... / ..-. --- .-. - .- ... ... . / - . / -.. . .-. . .-.. .. -. --.- ..- .- - .-.-.- / .-.. --- -.-. --- / ..- -... .. / .- .-. -.-. .... .. - . -.-. - ..- ... / -.. .. ... - .- -. - .. .- . / .... .- -... .. - .- - .-.-.- / .-.. --- -.-. --- / ..- -... .. / -- ..- .-.. - .- . / .-. . .- .-.. .. - .- - . ... / .. -. / ..- -. .- -- / -.-. --- -. ..-. .-.. ..- ..- -. - .-.-.- / -. ..- .-.. .-.. .- / - .- -... ..- .-.. .- / .. -.. / ... .. --. -. .- - .-.-.- / -. ..- .-.. .-.. .. / --- -.-. ..- .-.. .. / .. -.. / ...- .. -.. . .-. ..- -. - .-.-.-

“Morse code,” I stated flatly. “Should be simple enough.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen this before!”

And onto the succeeding page we went.

00011 01000 00001 01001 01110 10011

01000 01111 10111 00101 10110 00101 10010 11100 10100 01000 00101 00011 01111 10010 00101 10011 00011 01111 10101 01100 00100 01110 01111 10100 10010 00101 00001 00011 01000 00101 00001 00011 01000 01111 10100 01000 00101 10010 11011 01110 01111 10010 10101 10011 11011 10100 01000 00101 00100 01001 01101 00101 01110 10011 01001 01111 01110 10011 10111 00101 10010 00101 10011 10100 00001 00010 01100 00101 11100 10100 01000 01111 10101 00111 01000 10101 01110 00110 01111 10010 10100 10101 01110 00001 10100 00101 01100 11001 10011 01001 01100 00101 01110 10100 11011 00101 10010 00111 01111 11100 10100 01000 00101 00010 00101 00001 00011 01111 01110 10011 10111 00101 10010 00101 00010 01111 10010 01110 11011 10100 01000 00101 11001 00011 00001 10011 10100 01001 01110 10100 01111 00101 10110 00101 10010 11001 10111 01111 10010 01100

“Zeroes and ones… This is the binary system.”

“Binary? So… base-two?”

“Correct. This is the kind of instructions computers receive.”

“Huh. If I’d studied math back at school or something, I’d probably recognize all of this faster…”

“You have schools here? I thought the Pokémon world was all about exploration.”

“Well… yeah. Like any world, we’ve got all kinds of jobs. Explorers, sure—but also medics, builders, architects, engineers, y’know. I didn’t take formal schooling—I was way more into exploration stuff. And education’s totally optional, so… you can’t mock me for that, okay?!”

“What do they even teach? Battle strategies?”

“Uhh—not really? It’s more like, ‘how do you do this specific thing?’ rather than ‘how do I beat everyone up?’. If you wanna fight better, there’s a million books or mentors out there. But if you wanna build bridges and houses and invent stuff—you go to school.”

“So… not even something as basic as that is taught? Then what do they teach at the earliest level? Elementary school?”

“Elementary school? We don’t… have that here.”

“Then how does your system work?”

“Well, most Pokémon start at twelve. There’s two years of general stuff—reading, writing, numbers, ‘how the world works,’ that kind of thing. It also helps you figure out what you’re into. Like a… food sampler, yeah? After that, you pick a track and focus on it for three years. Healing, tourism, cooking, whatever.”

“Vocational school.”

“Yeah… I think that’s what it’s called.”

“Is there a formal name for the general phase? Before you specialize.”

“Oh, uh… I think most just call it general education?”

“…Appropriate. And university follows that, correct?”

“Eeyup!” he chirped. “Though I’ve never really gotten why we need it when we’ve already got voc schools.”

“I suppose… like in my world, it exists for highly specialized or theoretical subjects. In my world, we had subjects like psychology, history, chemistry, environmental science… things not directly applicable, but crucial for understanding complex systems. And then there are other majors—like engineering, medicine, or education—things that dive deeper into what was learnt in vocational school.”

“Oh, oh, you’re right! That makes sense now.”

“You seem oddly familiar with all of this, despite lacking formal education. Why?” I paused, frowning slightly, then whispered more to myself, “_{Why does saying that make me sound snobbish? Or worse—like I am insulting you, when it is simply a fact…?”}

“Oh! Well, apprentices always need, like… someone to try stuff on, right? And it looked kinda fun, so I signed up! Got to learn a bunch—though some of the information’s secondhand. Wasn’t interested in doing it for real, though—my brain would melt.”

“So… some of what you said earlier, you guessed.”

“Yep! Exactly! Like the testing-the-waters-sampler part. See? My deduction skills are incredible, aren’t they?”

“…Yet you panicked over the pencil running out, despite it being caught in the time loop.”

He did a dramatic gasp. “Oh Arceus—you’re still on that? That was completely reasonable and it was only once . One. Time. Just let it go!”

“How can I when your… inferring capabilities are supposedly ‘incredible’ when you could not infer something as simple as that?”

“I will infer your ass into the dirt!”

I stared at him for an extended amount of time. What did that even mean…? Also, what is that word he just said?

“That was not even grammatically sound,” I stated, flatly. It was the only truth I knew regarding that statement.

“Yeah, sure, sure!” He threw his hands up into the air. “Let’s just get to the next page! Wouldn’t wanna waste time, do you, huh?” He immediately flipped to the next page, and…

The entire spread was still filled with binary. Of course it took more than one page, of course; binary is ridiculously long. It deserves the title of the least space-efficient language imaginable.

00100 11100 10100 01000 10010 00101 00001 00100 01001 01110 00111 10100 01000 00101 01101 10100 01111 00111 00101 10100 01000 00101 10010 01001 01110 10111 00001 11001 10011 01110 01111 00101 11001 00101 00011 01111 10101 01100 00100 10100 10010 00001 00011 01011 11011 10100 01000 10010 01111 10101 00111 01000 10100 01000 00101 10011 00101 11100 10100 01000 00101 00110 01100 01111 10111 00011 01111 10101 01100 00100 10011 01000 01001 00110 10100 01001 10100 10011 00101 01100 00110 01110 00001 10100 10101 10010 00001 01100 01100 11001 11011 10100 01000 00101 01001 10010 01100 01001 00111 01000 10100 01101 00001 11001 10011 01000 01001 00110 10100 11100 10100 01000 00101 01001 10010 00110 10101 01110 00011 10100 01001 01111 01110 01101 00001 11001 00011 01000 00001 01110 00111 00101 11100 01001 00110 01111 01110 00101 00100 00001 10010 00101 00100 10100 01111 10011 10000 00101 00001 01011 10100 01000 00101 00011 01111 01101 01101 00001 01110 00100 11100 10100 01000 10010 01111 10101 00111 01000 10100 01000 00101 10010 01111 01111 10100 11100 00101 00011 01000 01111 01001 01110 00111 01001 01110 10100 00101 01110 10100 01001 01111 01110 11011 01100 00101 10100 10100 01000 00101 10010 01001 10110 00101 10010 10010 00101 10111

01001 01110 00100 11011 01100 00101 10100 10100 01000 00101 10011 01011 11001 10011 00101 00001 01100 10011 01000 10101 10100 11011 01100 00101 10100 10010 00001 01001 01110 00110 00001 01100 01100 11011 01100 00101 10100 10011 01001 01100 00101 01110 00011 00101 00010 00101 00011 01111 01101 00101 01100 00001 10111 11011 00010 10101 10100 10011 10101 00011 01000 10111 01111 10010 00100 10011 10010 00101 10001 10101 01001 10010 00101 10011 10101 00010 10011 10100 00001 01110 00011 00101 11011 00101 00001 00011 01000 00100 01001 01101 00101 01110 10011 01001 01111 01110 01000 01111 01100 00100 10011 01001 10100 10011 01111 10111 01110 01101 00001 10100 10100 00101 10010 11100 01001 10100 10011 01111 10111 01110 10000 10010 01001 00011 00101 11011 01111 01110 00011 00101 01001 10100 00111 01111 00101 10011 01111 10101 10100 11100 01001 10100 00100 00101 01101 00001 01110 00100 10011 01101 01111 10010 00101 10100 01000 00001 01110 01100 01001 00111 01000 10100 10100 01111 10010 00101 01100 01001 00111 01000 10100 01001 10100 11011 01111 01110 01100 11001 10100 01000 00101 10111 01111 10010 10100 01000 11001 01101 00001 11001 00010 10010 01001 01110 00111 10100 01000 00001 10100 01100 01001 00111 01000 10100 11011

I hummed briefly then leafed forward. The verso only read ‘To see the truth, do an act of deceit.’, while the recto read ‘To witness the end of it all, offer what remained whole.’ Good. No more weird writing system.

I opened the notebook and continued the list. Page six is in Morse code, whereas pages seven to nine is in binary.

Ere I forget, I also jotted down my current reading list. Whilst there was more space under the list where I could write on, I would not like Ashen looking at something so personal, so… I flipped to a page right before the end, and made a dog ear bookmark.

I titled the section ‘CAEL’S PERSONAL NOTES. DO NOT READ FURTHER, OR ELSE.’, stylized the same way as the title for the entire journal.

Yes—I will always be taking the pencil out of the pen loop and re-inserting it, so I do not think I need to mention it every time anymore.

“What are you writing?” Ashen asked upon seeing me skip this many pages ahead.

“Beyond this,”—I held the notebook up, turned toward him, then gave the header a firm tap—“is my personal section. Do not trespass, or you know what happens. Got it?” I narrowed my eyes.

“Geez… You're scary when you're protective.” He held up his hands in surrender, though the grin made it impossible to take seriously. “So… do I get a personal section too, or am I not important enough for one?”

“…Yes—”

“Yes to which?”

“—Claim the pages preceding mine. They are yours, if you truly insist on having a section. Just do not take half the book. Be sparing. Like me.”

“Oh, really? Awww, I didn't expect that from someone like you. Thaaaanks!” he said, sing-song.

I stared at him, deadpan. “…Yes.” I handed the notebook over to him. “Here—mark it yourself. Then check the first page; I wrote down the ciphers we need help with. Grab a translation guide, dictionary, anything that could help. Try finding them downstairs. I will stay here and try decoding them myself in the meantime.”

“Oooh! Okay!” He flipped to one of the earlier pages and tilted his head, practically humming as he wrote. Just like me, he bookmarked it by folding the corner into a dog ear.

“Alright, be right back!” he exclaimed, springing to his feet. He waved the hand still holding the book as he turned and headed for the stairs. I simply nodded in response.

“Ah—!” I almost called him back as I remembered that I wanted to ask about something else.

Well, no point in lamenting over it. Now… the page in Norwegian.

Hilsener… no idea what that means. Til is ‘to’. Dem , obviously ‘them’. Som —I remember that—means ‘that’ as in ‘which’. Har is ‘have’. Klart… still uncertain. Å means ‘to’, but løse…? That one’s unfamiliar too.

I do recall that ‘-het’ as a suffix is like ‘-ness’, and ‘-en’ turns it into ‘the’. So stillheten probably means ‘the stillness’. Fra is ‘from’. Skriften… still unknown.

…

… Vi means ‘we’…

…Lyset —‘the light’…

…Bli might be ‘become’…

…Kløft sounds like ‘cleft’. A split?

That is about it.

And that is about it.

“Hey Cael! I’m back!” a familiar voice shouted. Ashen has returned with all the piled books cradled in his hands.

“Hi, ‘back’,” I deadpanned.

He halted mid-step. Stared at me. Just stared. “You…”

I blinked. “What?”

“…Nothing.” He muttered something under his breath as he trudged closer. It registered mostly as “I need to be careful next time… walked right into that one…”

“You say that every time.”

“Yeah, well—! Okay, fair.”

He flopped down beside me with a small grunt, setting the books between us. “So, good news and bad news. I found a Latin dictionary and one for Morse code.” He nudged them forward like they were trophies. “Bad news is… apparently this place doesn’t believe in the existence of zigzag or binary or, like, any of the other cool codes.”

“Well… that is unsurprising, given how empty these shelves are. Although that should not be too much of a problem; those were the two we needed the most anyway. I am sure all the other ciphers have some sort of pattern in it we can figure out.”

“So… are you done with this one?”

“Well, this is as far as my translation goes:

Hilsener to those who have klart to løse the stilness from the script—
If these meaningless symbols now dawn meaning in your sinn, we think that you are worthy of nøkkelen.
You stand there where few were meant to stand. The way here was bratt with will.
We begraved—I think that means buried—the answer under metaphors and gåter, not to be gruesome, but varsomme.
We could not let slik kunnskap fall into uforsiktige hands again, after hendelsen.
Likevel the light needed a… car?—to shine through—should the history another time våge to gjenta seg. The usette skillet can ennå need to become helbredet—this entire line does not make sense.
If you have come here with right-ferdig-ness as mål, and an ærefullt behov, so les videre.
(And if your heart is false…
måtte this book continue to become a mystery for you, in all eternity.)
– A vokter of the axial cleft

The Norwegian words just indicate whatever words I have not figured out the meaning of. The rest, I just guessed. They were cognates of some English words.”

“Oookay…” he drawled. “That last part’s ominous. This book’s judging me? Geez. But I know that my heart isn’t false!” He thumped his chest once while winking, right on where I assume his heart is, as if to prove it.

I gave a small nod. “It does sound like a warning. Or a… gatekeeping mechanism, perhaps. Wary, as if it expects someone unworthy to try understanding it.”

Ashen's brows furrowed at the pages. “Or like someone has before. And messed up. We're not gonna do that, right, Cael?” He gave my arm a slight nudge.

“Agreed, and hopefully. It implies that failure in handling the information would lead to repercussions. Like…”

Then Ashen cut in.

“…the Catastrophe?”

We spoke at the same time. I did not have anything to say to that.

“Oh, we share a brain cell. For sure!” he said as if it was the most profound information ever.

“That is not how brain cells work.”

“Aw, come on! That was a compliment!”

“How so?”

“Because that means we're in sync! And you need synchrony when you're a team!”

“Then would that not mean it was only a comment of approval?”

“What? No! That also means we get each other. In a cool way! We're managing to figure it out together! It wouldn't be good if we didn't, right? If I was the only one who saw it that way…?”

“I… see now. Then, I advise you to not phrase it like that again.”

“No promises.”

“Of course. Now, moving on…”

I opened the page in reverse Caesar cipher.

“So… what do we do here?”

“Find how much the letters are shifted by.”

“Oh, right! So… there are lots of possibilities right? Any ideas?”

“Thinking.”

What would the best approach be?

The key could either be negative, or positive. Therefore, Ashen and I should split directions. That is assuming I can trust his brain's… methods. But I must. We need to be efficient. And if anything goes wrong, I can recheck his part quickly enough.

There is also the chance that each line is shifted differently… or even each word. But that should be obvious if the outputs start looking like nonsense. I suppose manual decoding has its advantages: forcing clarity.

“Try applying a positive shift—go one, two, three, and so on. I will take the negatives. Use the notebook to write your results. We will need to share the pencil.” I rested my finger on the title of the page, specifically ‘adP’.

“That was long but… I think I got it!”

“Good. Begin.”

I started a new section under the notes from earlier and labeled it ‘Pda’. First attempt: ‘-1 → Ocz’

Ashen followed with ‘1 → Qeb’ on another column. The next few rows came quickly.

…‘-3 → Max’. That is a word, but beginning a title with ‘Max’ seems unlikely.

“Cael, I got it!” Ashen exclaimed suddenly.

“Hm?” I looked over.

He was at four already. Curious.

It appears that he is quicker with these kinds of tasks. Things that were rigid. Repetitive. Monotonous. While I still needed to count my way through ‘L, M, N, O, P’—he would just… know—that a shift of -4 from ‘P’ was ‘L’. How slow. But at least it is not stupid… just automatic, right?

I suppose he had internalized the shape of the alphabet more than I had. I only remember the early parts—A, B, C…—the ones people mention the most, whilst the rest had to be computed step-by-step. I was never the type to fully commit systems to memory.

“Shifting it by four gives ‘The’!” Ashen grinned.

“…Efficient,” I muttered. “Continue. Do the odd-numbered lines, I will take the evens.”

“Um. Problem. We only have one pencil.”

“I noticed.”

“Should I—?”

“I will get another. You already retrieved the books.” I already stood up and was already hovering off the ground.

“But, wouldn't I be faster?”

“I float. You would be slower. Consider it me returning the favor…”

By the time he could argue, I flew off the railing and dropped straight toward the front desk. Tess was sitting on a chair behind it, trying to stack a wobbly tower of books.

The still air brushed past me as I fell. I was not scared. Of course not.

But it did feel strangely familiar. And relieving. The quiet. The drop. The weightlessness. The apathy. However… this was different.

“Hey.” I called. It came out… quite forced.

“Yeah? Need something?”

“A pencil.”

She blinked at me once then reached into an already-open drawer—just like every other drawer; it seems like normally closed compartments are kept open to not risk any of the weird glitches Ashen once mentioned.

“Thank you. I will return this when we are finished,” I said as I took the pencil, then floated off directly to the mezzanine—no stairs required.

By the time I returned, Ashen was already hunching over the notebook, deeply focused on his work, eyes flicking fast between letters and notes. He worked quickly, scribbling answers without hesitation. No counting. No pausing. Just… flow.

Of course he was nearly finished already.

“Back,” I announced as I sat back down.

He stopped to turn toward me. “Oh, hey ba— Wait… Aw man! You're so clever.”

“Hm.”

“Next time I'll get you…”

“Sure. Sure you will.”

He grumbled. “Ugh, you know what I mean. Whatever. Anyways—jumping the railing like that was so badass, y’know?”

“I technically did not jump, although it was the shortest path.”

“And the coolest,” he added with a grin.

I shook my head, reaching for my half-finished notes. “We still have work to do.”

“Right, right.” Ashen returned to his own scribbles.

All the shifting took time—and many pages. In my section, I wrote out the full alphabet to help visualize the shifts. Ashen, of course, did not seem to need that at all.

For a moment too long, I wondered what it would be like to not need to look at the alphabet every few lines. To just know. To not have to go through the whole process, just because your brain can not hold the shape of things without them tangling up like wire. How convenient.

Ashen set his pencil down with a flourish. “Aaaand done! Beat you by a landslide.”

I glanced at him, still only about a quarter into my section. “I just came back here.”

Ashen leaned over just a little, curious. “You still write out the whole alphabet every time?”

“…Yes.”

“Whoa. You don’t, like… know it yet?”

That did something strange to my chest. I kept my eyes on the page. “I do. I just have not… memorized it fully. Just… visual aid.”

“Dang, Cael—what are you, like, basically a hundred years old and never learned your ABCs?”

My hand froze mid-letter. Something in my throat tightened.

“Enjoy… yeah.”

The silence that followed was barely two seconds long, but it stretched.

“Wait—uh.” His smile faltered. “That sounded mean, huh.”

“I do not need to memorize… something I can write down. That is… what tools are for, right? But you are welcome to… think otherwise.” My voice came out too stiff. Too rehearsed. But it was true.

Ashen winced a little, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, okay, uh, I didn’t mean it like that! I just thought, y’know, with your whole brain and logic and fancy vocabulary—”

“It is fine.”

“But—”

“You heard me. Do not worry. I will catch up.”

That was the only thing I could think of to say. Explaining it would just make me seem more pathetic. Like I am denying something obvious. What would change? I would either give him more space to mock me or make him feel bad. I would feel worse. Nothing improves. Better to play along. Smile. Make him laugh again. Then it will be over.

My hand still felt stiff over the page, even though I told myself it was just a joke. It was nothing. It happens. People laugh when things do not make sense to them. I should not feel anything about it.

Yet I do. I always do… And I can never name it.

…It was not even that harsh. He did not mean it. At least, cruelly. Though, I know that expression. I do not remember being laughed at like that. Not exactly. But something about it still felt familiar. Like I had already lived that moment a hundred times in the past. Just… without the words.

I should be better at letting it go. I should now.

I stared at his work again. What is this… feeling?

Envy? Not exactly. But the thought lingered. It was just another reminder that some things come easier to others.

Would I be more efficient? Less tired?

I suppose I could train myself to memorize the positions. Or recognize the shapes. I could try.

But would that even change anything?

What is the point? Would trying even help? Or would I just be chasing something I was never meant to have?

But I want to. Yet…

…It is fine. I could still get there, work it out manually—eventually. I always did. It just takes a little more time. A little longer. More steps, and more work. That was all, right? Nothing else. Nothing. Maybe it just means I work harder.

I hope Ashen does not mind my slowness. It is only fair, is it not? I have done most of the thinking up until this point. I found the patterns. I have solved harder things than this. Saved his life, even.

He can afford to be patient. Especially when… he is not exactly fast right now, either.

Eventually, I finished. I laid the pencil down beside his.

“Well, now. Shall we see what it gives us?”

His smile still did not quite return. “Yeah… Let's.”

We leaned in.

Chapter Text

We pieced our decodings together. It came out to read:

The Flawed Network

Long ago, the Keeper of Hours forged five hearts of cobalt.
Anchored at the summit of its mount, they ran, spinning—correspondingly keeping the world spinning.
But the One Who Severs the Sleeper’s Pact slithered through the shadows and heard the humming.
It learned the mechanism—its secret delicateness.
The toothed circles were scattered.
With venom in its sharp-witted tongue, and illusion in his claws,
he whispered treason into listening ears.
Protectors rose, unaware they guarded ruin.
The spire trembled. The Ancient of Time burnt bright, dimmer, then silent—drained beyond repair.
When it fell, the world endured its pain in stillness.
In its place rose the Primal, clawing to remain,
ruling not from wisdom, but from fear of oblivion.
It bound a loyal phantom in lies,
For to alter time would be to end it.

This book kinda deserves to be in some sort of mythology section. ‘The Ancient of Time’? ‘The Keeper of Hours’?” Ashen remarked. “It kinda feels like Tess just went,”—he pitched his voice higher in a falsetto—“‘Hm, I can't understand the meaning of this book! And everything I don’t understand belongs in the poetry section!’”

I gave him a sidelong look. “She would not be wrong for thinking like that.”

She really would not. Poetry is unintelligible.

Then I turned toward him fully. “But… it is poetry.” I tapped a claw next to the phrase five hearts of cobalt. “All metaphorical. None of this is literal. And for the record—there is no Mythology section. Not up here, anyway. The closest thing would be Cultural Studies. Or History as well, considering the phrase ‘long ago’. We could try cross-referencing the terms.”

“Ugh…” Ashen groaned. “That sounds like more work. We haven’t even finished decoding the rest of it.”

I shrugged. “Then we shall interpret it ourselves. Unless you would prefer asking Tessarda.”

“You know she’d tell us to figure it out on our own.”

“Exactly.”

He sighed dramatically. “Okay, but—do we decode everything first, then try to interpret it all at the end? Or stop and figure it out every time we finish a page?”

“Decode first. It is what is paramount currently. It would be easier to draw conclusions when we are not constantly interrupting the pattern.” My voice quieted. “I dislike guesswork anyway…”

“Sounds good! Then onto the next one!” He flipped to the next page in the zigzag cipher. 

“By the way, what was that word you used in that nonsensical sentence?”

“Huh?”

“The one where you declared you would infer my… ass—into the dirt.”

His expression instantly contorted into something of a half-choke, and a half-laugh. “Pfft—oh no, that one? You’re bringing that up again?! You're seriously still thinking about that?”

“Yes. I wanted an… explanation from you. What does that mean?”

Ashen sighed like he was about to explain the process of reproduction to a child, flailing one hand like he was physically trying to swat the memory away. “It’s-it’s just a word! You know, like—! It’s… a swear. Kind of. ‘Ass’ is, like, what humans used to call their butt. Shouldn't you know? You're a human! Or—you used to be.”

“Indeed. However, I was questioning its origin. Your kind does not have those, after all.”

“MERCI BEAUCOUP,”“THANK YOU SO MUCH,” he said, throwing up his arms. “Yes. We don’t. I know. It’s not literal, it’s just a rude word now. For a jerk. People say it when they’re mad. Or annoyed. Or sarcastic. Or trying to sound cool. Or like, when you want to sound intense. Or weirdly dramatic. You’re not supposed to think too hard about it!”

“…So it is not an actual anatomical reference.”

“No! Got it? T’es content, là ?!means 'Are you happy now?!', literally 'You are happy there?!'”

“No,” I answered. “Now I am wondering about ‘shit’.”

He choked on absolutely nothing. Unless you consider air something. “Q-quoi ?”

“And fuck. And asshole. And dick. And cock. And bitch. And prick. And pussy. And cunt. And whore. And slut. And wanker. And twat. And literally every other term derived from that.” I leaned in ever so slightly closer with every vulgarity I listed, while Ashen leaned back, and back, until he looked like he was about to fall off the chair.

Ashen stared at me, eyes wide in absolute horror. Not fear. Not disgust. Just sheer, unfiltered secondhand embarrassment.

“I-I—okay, Cael, first of all— What?! You— where—?! Who—?! Why— How do you know all of those?! Did you grab an index of all the forbidden words straight out of your ass?!”

There it is again.

“Underestimating my knowledge, hm? I know many things, Ashen. I am a former human.” I crossed my arms and closed my other eye—not that it is visible anyway.

He just froze while I waited expectantly.

“Okay, okay okay okay—breathe, Ashen,” he muttered to himself, a sweat bead running down from his temple. “T’peux le faire. Il fait que demander. C’est juste… des infos. Comme… comme expliquer les baies. Des baies horribles, maudites, indicibles.”“You can do it. He's just asking. It’s just… information. Like… like explaining berries. Horrible, cursed, unspeakable berries.”

I tilted my head. “So… you do know their meanings.”

He made a noise. I am not sure what it is. “I-I know... some. I-I’m not a walking vulgarity compendium!!”

“Then why are you sweating?”

“I’M NOT SWEATING YOU’RE SWEATING—okay okay okay! I’ll… I’ll tell you what I can!”

“I am waiting.”

He muttered something under his breath that almost registered as ‘fuck’ to me, right as he exhaled, closing his eyes. “Okay. Ground rules. Some of these words were used by humans to insult others in horribly specific ways. They were all about things they thought were dirty, or shameful, or… or anatomy-related. Gross anatomy. Not like cool internal system stuff. Like, external. Like, fleshy bits.”

“I frankly find ‘internal system stuff’ just as gross.”

“Well, well—! Okay, you're right. Je déteste ça. Je le déteste tellement. ”

“ Tu te débrouilles à merveille. ”

“Why are we even having this conversation in the middle of— Okay, okay. Those humans probably explained what they meant, showed us what the literal meanings of those words looked like, and we just… learned to use it too—some of them, we reclaimed. For example, ‘fuck’ to refer to the egg-making process.”

“…Expected. How predictable.”

“SHUT—! Okay… These words were mostly used by outlaws, rebels—basically unfavorable guys, so they were seen as low, y’know?”

“Lines up perfectly. What did you use formerly, then?”

“I-I don't know! What, you think I existed back then? NO! I guess they just used alternatives with existing normal words? Maybe, I don't know, ‘curse you’? HOW DID WE EVEN GET HERE? But, you know what everything means, right? I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO EXPLAIN TO YOU, PLEASE…”

“Oh, enlighten me. I would love to hear you—”

“NO! Cael, if you force me to do this, I swear I'll fuck you right after—”

“You know, I always assumed you would want to go first. Turns out, I was right.” I leaned in closer. “If you want to, I would not stop you.”

Ashen made a noise that was neither a word nor a breath, like a dying kettle trying to scream. “W-WHAT?! STOP IT—stop! That’s not— I meant ‘fuck you up’, okay?! That’s what I meant!”

His hands were waving frantically now, face practically smoking. “C-Cael! No… please! Besides, there are no Darkrai eggs!!”

“I was joking anyway,” I said calmly.

“WERE YOU?”

“Does it matter?”

I did not expect him to respond. Nor did I want him to. He would probably panic harder if I left that hanging.

It was only a test. Of language. Of boundaries. Nothing more.

And so, I did. Despite everything, I did not know what else to say either, without revealing too much.

I do not desire him in an emotional sense. But I would use his body, if the urge presented itself. Just for that. Perhaps it was a leftover human instinct.

He kept on staring at me.

“...Okay,” he finally muttered, turning half-away and scratching at the back of his neck. “Okay. Cool. That’s… not haunting at all. Not gonna dwell on that forever or anything. Actually I will and uh, let's get back to deciphering after this.”

I hummed.

He was still looking away, but he had not left. I do not understand why.

By all accounts, I should be insufferable. Distant. Cold. Wrong; I tend to say the wrong things accidentally, push too far.

Natheless, that should be good. It should comfort me, but it does less than I expected… Not that I care.

I told myself it was better this way. That I only ever wanted information. Control. Predictability.

Hence, when he leaves—like everyone does—I will know it was my fault. Not his. I just hope when that happens… it will not hurt too much.

I do not think I need closeness. I never have.

But sometimes, I think that is a lie, think about what it would be like… to not have to test people in this way. To not expect the worst before it even happens. To be understood.

Yet, I wish I could stop hoping.

“Okay, that totally didn’t make me rethink the past five minutes of my life in high-definition slow motion and make me imagine things, nope, I’m fine… BUT NOW I'M BACK! Anyways, the zigzag cipher! You're the one that knows this one, so work hard!” He leaned back, tucking his hands behind his head before I snatched his arm, glaring at him, as he let out a small “Wha—?!”

“Who said you will be slacking off?”

Ashen yelped, nearly tipping backward. “OW—no one! Wow, Darkrai strength—noted. Sorry, sir! I was… I was just… supervising! You know, emotional support. That’s important!”

“I do not think you are qualified. But maybe this will change my mind. Look at how a zigzag cipher works so we will be able to split the work like we did with the shift cipher.”

“Oh, uh, alright! All my eyes are on you!”

“On the paper,” I corrected.

“On the paper!” he repeated.

TSeg  crh udrn fteCokokeniohlw

W rafea esihohi e hntehateto h lntfdd oddta ftewn,tervr.eheb tpea, t dhis
Drsti hotw ,a eue ors,ngtfro o oedyfd ei ghtn
athew rlae og.n h evn eeeenlypitdagom rydeasrta n lya
Ael sibatasrdesu h kd rs efgitnn eet h se are h atpleo oebcwr,fhalegnhehcitl sfpaa
w eibthntefr tl un,ehislr
ugelfeno tFssn h epo h ikVieo h oetith tP cfer.
W e n hobkn eetehea eihtoohr,ukont itr u nw oft,h ahrdtesprtdcrstwtsnwosytota ge aeo.
We c mtslehr epukdte,sai olwdehleh sfo.
Cen,e-ru eoda,n.osqety h ob eceswr cre.Htd utdnulttesresn ehe
Htperueofc, tie egh eta h rtcosgaddmr ireytels wnl fhp ih aegn u.deot r eelhatkoomtvoo
Oohn fte…e m
wtst s,a h aoerhmefsebuil
wits eo ut eanern h aefc rmaftr hthdnvrhpee.agemaf ueaae pd
Bveei.d t ti ou egac ald n oddtelnenta uddn n.tnnfeAsiharhgeoe
An dspn o,tesao lesdwhhwe.
Mie ea tnvrwk.y ea
Twdsvh ol a ae.erwsd

I titled the page ‘Rail Fence Deciphering’, then narrated the process. “I will explain this to you since you might not grasp the process immediately… First, to decode this cipher, we create a grid with two or more rows; that number is the key. I will assume that the number is three since that seems to be the most common.”

“Three’s a good number too! Dontcha think?”

“There is a saying that goes ‘third time is the charm’, after all. Not that I believe that.”

“Of course you don't…”

“Now, count the amount of the letters in each line—including spaces.” I scanned the line in the book. “That seems like a double space, so… thirty in total.”

“That's long. How long will this take?”

“Longer if you keep making unhelpful comments.” I added a small note: ‘1: 8, 2: 15, 3: 7’. “Then, calculate how many letters will go to each row. The second row receives the most characters, as it is passed through twice—once downward and once upward. So, half of the text goes there. The first and third rows take the remaining half, split between them. The top row always starts first, so it receives the extra character.”

“Ohh… yeah! Now that horizontal zigzag shape thingy you mentioned makes sense.”

“Everything looks clear when visualized. Now, when deciphering, we must reconstruct the grid by rows. First we fill the top, then the middle, then the bottom, one letter at a time, according to how many each should hold.”

I wrote the first letter—‘T’—then placed two vertically aligned dots beneath it. “These dots are spacing guides. The columns should be of equal width, roughly. Or at least it should be readable when we construct the actual zigzag. We do not have a ruler, after all.”

“But the books—”

“I do not want to risk blemishing it. Continuing… The first and third rows only receive a letter after three cells, while the second row receives one every other column—because it is passed through both ways.” I placed three dots, marking the center of these imaginary grid cells, beside the ‘T’. “Another spacing guide. We just have to repeat the process now.”

I placed the next letter down, then again marked the three dots beside it. And the next one. And… the next one. The structure would emerge eventually—just a few more columns.

“Okay… okay, this isn’t so bad,” Ashen said, leaning in as I repeated the process. “But look at all that space wasted between the letters! How much space will this take up?!”

“The eraser,” I pointed out. “When we are traveling, we do not have much to do; we might as well do other, more productive activities.”

“Oh. You're right. Why are you always right?”

“Maybe… that is because you assume so without ever fact-checking me.”

“What? That's not true!” he declared. “…Okay it actually is. But still! Why does it always make sense?”

“Because of logic.”

I paused as he just looked at me emotionlessly.

Then I elaborated, “Logic makes logical sense when applied correctly. Although for some, that is fallacious—which is already a fallacy in and of itself; it is… good to know that yours is still in check.”

“Well well well… Is that a compliment I hear?” He leaned in like he was about to interview me, smirking proudly. “Aww… the s— clever guy does think I'm bright.” He stood up, turned around and talked to a nonexistent audience. “Look, everyone! He's saying my logic good! Not ‘barely functional’, not ‘just tolerable enough’, no. Actually good. From the one and only Darkrai himself.” He looked back then winked at me. “Would you like to repeat that for the record, sir?”

As he said that, I was already done deciphering. Reading it actually created a legible sentence—or in this case, title. I got it on my first try; mildly surprising.

I set my pencil down with a sharp sigh and finally made eye contact with him. “No. You have already logged it into your imaginary… transcript. Why do you need another citation?”

“You keep hiding your sweetness from me, but I can still see it.”

“I—”

“So there you have it, folks! We have gotten him. This is the high—”

“Stop that,” I ordered.

“No! Why? Let me have my fun!”

“BECAUSE, I have found the key.”

“The key to all of life’s biggest problems?”

“The key to the cipher. Three. Take a look.”

He came closer and loomed over the notebook, squinting his eyes as he read it out loud. “‘The Sundering of the Clockwork’… Ha! See?” He straightened and pointed at my work. “I knew I'd get to slack off anyway!” He closed his eyes triumphantly, hands on hips.

“Sorry to break it to you—not really—but we have more lines to decode.”

His arms dropped in slow motion. “...What.”

“You heard me right. This is only the title. However, I will give you an option: would you like to do the odd-numbered lines or the even?”

“I would like to lie down.”

“That is not an option.”

“Fine, fine. Even numbers. I'll do the even numbers. Like I usually do.”

“Great.” I turned to a new, empty spread on the notebook. “Take the right side. I will take the verso.”

“Alright, alright.” He sat back down. “Wait, how do you determine how many letters go in each row, again?”

“Divide the amount of letters by two. That is for the middle row. Divide it by two again. If there is a remainder, take the bigger number between it and the result for the first row. For the third row… you can guess.”

“Yup, yup. I think I understand.”

I gave a faint nod.

We got back to work. We worked on each line one by one; they got their own, separate grid. Each line surprisingly did not take as much space as I expected…

Until finally, there was a line long enough to actually make me hit the edge of the page. I paused, annoyed at the margin, before simply continuing the table beneath it. The letter spacing was slightly off now, but tolerable.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Ashen, still scribbling. His writing was smooth as ever, but his rhythm hit a few hiccups whenever bigger numbers came into play, such as here. I could hear the mumbled counting under his breath every time he calculated a line’s length. It slowed him, just enough, for us to be evenly matched this time—unlike during the shift cipher decryption.

“Aaaand—done!” he announced as he flicked his pencil with a flourish again. “Beat you by a landslide, again…!” He leaned in closer to my page. “…Wait. What?! You're done too? Guess that's only one time…”

“You are fast,” I admitted coolly. “But I do not need to count aloud.”

He squinted. “Is that another compliment from you?”

“It is up for interpretation.”

“Wow. Alright, alright. It's hard to get you to admit what I want, huh? Whatever. Let's see what comes out!”

Following the series of zigzags, it read:

The Sundering of the Clockwork

When the heartbeat of the planet faded, so did that of the wind, the rivers.
Day refused to rise, night forgot how to end,
and the heavens were eternally painted a gloomy gray.
A fresh leaf glistening beneath the ashes carried the last pulse of hope backward,
when the fire still burnt,
using the help of the Pink Voice of the Forest.
With two others, unknown to history but known to fate, he gathered the separated cores.
Where he plucked them, stasis followed.
Consequently, the to-be rescuers were scorned.
Had the protectors guarded more fiercely,
the last twinkle of hope might have gone out.
One of them…
was the saboteur himself,
wearing the same face from a future that had never happened.
But vengeance failed. And so did the lantern that guided no one.
And now, the shadow sleeps.
May it never wake.
The world was saved.

“Ooh! Ooh! I think I know what this is talking about! It's making sense after the last page.”

“That is… great. Moving on, the next page is in duodecimal.”

Ashen squinted at the next page, then lit up like he had just found a hidden treasure. “Gasp! Wait—this is perfect! This one’s yours, right?”

I said nothing, yet. I could predict what he was going to say next; hence, I had to think about what he should do next.

He beamed, smug. “Sweet. Then I’ll just sit back and read this page over and over while you do all the work. Y'know, interpreting it. Super helpful, right?”

“No. That is called slacking off.”

“Oh, c’mon! You’re the one who knows everything about that duodecimal thing!”

“In that case,”—I tapped our grid work—“you can re-copy the deciphered version onto another page so that we can re-read it whenever.”

He blinked. “Wait, but we didn’t do that for page three—”

“Because the deciphered version of that page is already clean. This,” I gestured between dotted spacing lines, and the unaligned letters, “is not. If we ever wish to reread this, we would have to zigzag our eyes across the page again. You called that a waste of space, did you not? So clear it up.”

He groaned dramatically. “I played myself…”

I did not reply to that.

That is why one needs to be careful with their words. You… neve know when something as minor as this may be used against you. And I hate that I am doing this myself. Regardless, I must.

“Anyways, switch places with me. It will be important for my next instructions.”

“So… do I move first, or you?”

“That will not be necessary.” I stood and started levitating over the table, giving him room to slide into my seat.

“I never knew floating could be useful like that…!” he said, scooting to the left with an exaggerated shuffle.

I hummed faintly as I lowered myself into the now-empty seat, a mirror of his earlier motion.

I turned our notebook back to page four—where I had shown him an example of the zigzag cipher. “Memorize the title. Then erase my writing to make space for yours.”

As I flipped ahead to the fourth spread—pages eight and nine—I gathered the pages in between with one hand. “Keep a grip on page six. You can flip it back and forth for reference. And just let page seven rest over my hand as I write.”

My left arm settled across the edge of the paper, marking my place like a living bookmark. Page seven covered most of my hand, of course.

“Hhhgh… fine.”

I did not respond to that. Quietly, I began analyzing the page.

18 8 5   1B 13 19 12 4 24   16 5 3 1 17 18 18 8 5

3 13 7 17   8 1 4   3 16 1 3 B 5 4 23   18 9 11 5   9 18 17 5 10 6   8 1 4   17 8 1 18 18 5 16 5 4 13 12 5 23 1 12 4   18 8 5   18 21 16 1 12 18   13 6   1B 8 5 12   3 13 19 10 4   12 13 18   10 5 18   17 19 3 8   18 16 9 2 19 10 1 18 9 13 12   2 5 6 1 10 10   18 8 5   5 1 16 18 8   1 7 1 9 12 23 17 13 24   9 18   7 1 18 8 5 16 5 4   9 18 17   17 18 16 5 12 7 18 8   1 12 4   1B 8 1 18   6 16 1 7 11 5 12 18 17   16 5 11 1 9 12 5 4 24 18 13   3 16 5 1 18 5   1   12 5 1B   3 13 16 5 23 12 13 18   6 9 1A 5 24   2 19 18   13 12 5 23 17 18 5 1 4 21 24   5 12 3 1 17 5 4 24   1 12 4   8 9 4 4 5 12   17 13 11 5 1B 8 5 16 5 23 17 13 11 5 1B 8 5 16 5   1B 8 5 16 5   5 1 3 8   17 18 5 14   3 10 9 11 2 5 4   17 B 9 14 17   21 13 19   1 12   8 13 19 16   6 13 16 1B 1 16 4 23 17 13 11 5 1B 8 5 16 5   1B 8 9 3 8   8 5 10 4   18 8 5   16 13 13 18   13 6   18 8 5   9 17 17 19 5 23 17 13 11 5 1B 8 5 16 5   1B 8 5 16 5   18 8 5   13 12 5   1B 8 13   1B 1 18 3 8 5 17   1 10 10   6 19 18 19 16 5 17   16 5 17 9 4 5 17 23 9 18   1B 1 17   11 13 16 5   18 8 1 12   1 12   13 2 A 5 3 18 24 2 19 18   1   4 13 13 16 1B 1 21 24   10 5 1 4 9 12 7   9 12 1B 1 16 4 24 18 13   18 8 5   16 5 1 10 11   1B 8 5 16 5   18 8 5   10 13 16 4   13 6   18 9 11 5   11 5 12 4 5 4   8 13 19 16 17   19 12 17 5 5 12 23 9 18   1B 1 17   17 5 1 10 5 4 23 18 8 5   11 9 17 10 5 4   7 19 1 16 4 17   1B 5 16 5   7 9 1A 5 12   1   12 5 1B   18 16 19 18 8 24 1 12 4   17 1B 13 16 12   18 13   18 8 9 17   7 16 5 1 18 5 16   18 1 17 B   10 5 18   12 13 12 5   17 5 5 24   12 13 16   16 5 1 3 8   18 8 5   17 14 8 5 16 5 23

Duodecimal… To encode non-numeric characters into a non-decimal system, they must be assigned numeric values first.

We already have letters here. What would ‘A’ be? The numbers are rather small indicating that we are not using ASCII values—if that even exists here.

I skimmed the list. No zeroes… Hmm. That likely means ‘A’ is assigned the value of one. Which would logically make ‘Z’ twenty-six.

Now, to translate it into base twelve… If the system is consistent, anything above twelve must be converted by dividing by twelve and concatenating the quotient with the remainder. So, for example—‘Z’, or 26. Twelve fits into 26 twice, with a remainder of two. That makes its duodecimal equivalent 22.

Yet… there are 23s and 24s. That should not be possible—not if only letters are involved.

I double-checked the lines. The 23s always show up at the end—never in the middle. That would make them dots, with a value of 27. But then… the 24s are scattered throughout.

If those are punctuation, then maybe they represent the second-most common mark. That would be the comma.

Alright. That accounts for everything.

I slightly lifted page seven with my left hand to allow space for my right hand and began sketching a quick reference list on the corner. A refresher would not hurt…

Once that was done, I started decoding the entire text.

I glanced over. Ashen was still jotting everything down… and fast, too. Is he always this quick when he writes?

…Maybe that is not an entirely good thing. Speed can still lead to oversights.

Do I even have room to say this? When I make mistakes on a school assignment, I am still called cursory despite how many times I check things again and again…

That is not fair at all. Mistakes like that… they only stand out after you know they are wrong. Not while you are combing over the same lines again and again, convinced you have addressed everything. In spite of that, people do not seem to understand.

They assume it is carelessness. That if I had just paid more attention, I would have caught it.

But I do pay attention. I always have. And still, the error slips through. Even when I go slowly.

And if mistakes are bound to happen either way, then… perhaps being rapid is the superior approach. Could I even reach his speed…?

I do not know.

But now is not the time to dwell on that; there is still more to decipher.

I let the pencil drop. “Are you done?”

“Yeah… I just need to erase everything on my zigzag page. So…”

I moved my hand aside onto the table instead.

“Thank you! ” he intoned.

I dipped my head slowly. I watched as he erased everything, with more care than I expected—at first.

He pinched the page steady and rubbed in firm, curved strokes… until he smudged a section and muttered, “Oh come on—” under his breath. Did he always do this, or was I too engrossed with my work to notice?

“Just… leave those marks. You are not going to win. And may even leave wrinkles—or even worse, tear it.”

“If I. Rip the page. Then it means the eraser wins,” he hissed, still scrubbing.

“And… we lose. There are more than two parties involved.”

The eraser squeaked sharply against the page. The paper stretched beneath his fingers.

“Ashen—!”

He froze mid-stroke, the eraser still pressed to the page.

"…Fine," he grumbled. "But only because I’m letting us win.”

His movements eased, returning into his usual rhythm. I noticed the erasing produced barely produced any dust—and whatever little there was, it simply vanished almost immediately.

“Is the eraser also affected by the loop too, perchance?”

“Yeeep,” he drawled. “Aaand done! I won. Mostly. This is acceptable. And it's time to see your work!”

I navigated to page nine. “Here.” The decryption read:

The Wound, Recast

The cogs had cracked. Time itself had shattered one.
And the Tyrant of When could not let such tribulation befall the Earth again.
So, it gathered its strength and what fragments remained,
to create a new core.
Not five, but one.
Steady, encased, and hidden somewhere.
Somewhere where each step climbed skips you an hour forward.
Somewhere which held the root of the issue.
Somewhere where the One Who Watches All Futures resides.
It was more than an object,
but a doorway, leading inward,
to the realm where the Lord of Time mended hours unseen.
It was sealed.
The misled guards were given a new truth,
and sworn to this greater task: let none see, nor reach the sphere.

“…Now this is new information,” Ashen stated. “Y’know, all of this is getting tiring… Can I slack off for once, now?”

“No.”

In truth, I would like to rest. At this point, I have not slept in… what, three-fourths of a day now? Maybe more.

“But I’m so tired!” he whined.

Though… he had just slept. I suppose Bad Dreams does have its long-term effects and this is one of them. This can not be good—unless this is natural drowsiness. Hopefully… it is.

Maybe a compromise will do.

“Why not skip interpretation?” I suggested. “We can handle that after we wake up.”

“Okay, fine! Sleep, here I come!” He stretched dramatically. “We need to focus. What’s next?”

I paged forward. “Morse code. The usual. You take the even lines, I will take the odds. The title is yours—count it as line zero.”

I fetched the book on Morse code. Next, I flipped to the chart, and laid it in front of the notebook. “You know what to do.”

.-..-. .- .-.. - . .-. .- / ...- ..- .-.. -. ..- ... .-..-.

-.. ..- -- / - . -- .--. ..- ... / -.-. --- -. ... ..- . -... .- - ..- .-. --..-- / ... .--. .- - .. ..- -- / - .- -- . -. / .--. . .-. --. . -... .- - / ... .- -. --. ..- .. -. .- .-. . .-.-.- / - . .-. .-. .- / -.-. --- -. - --- .-. - .- / . ... - .-.-.- / ...- .. .- . / . ...- .- -. ..- . .-. ..- -. - .-.-.- / .- .-. -.-. .- -. ..- -- / .- .-.. - .. ..- ... / ..-. .- -.-. - ..- -- / . ... - --..-- / . - / -- ..- .-.. - .. .--. .-.. .. -.-. .- - ..- -- .-.-.- / ... .. / .... --- -.-. / .--. . .-. ... . ...- . .-. . - --..-- / -- ..- -. -.. ..- ... / ..-. .-. .- -. --. .- - ..- .-. / ..- .-.. - .-. .- / -. .- ...- .. --. .- - .. --- -. . -- .-.-.- / -. . -.-. / -.. --- -- ..- ... / .. .- -- / ...- --- -.-. .- .-. .. / .--. --- ... ... .. - .-.-.- / .. - .- --.- ..- . --..-- / .. ... / --.- ..- .. / .-.. --- -.-. .- / - . -..- .. - / . - .. .- -- / ... --- .-.. ..- - .. --- -. . ... / --.- ..- .- . ... .. ...- .. - .-.-.- / . -..- / ... ..- .- / . -. . .-. --. .. .- --..-- / --- .-. -... .. ... / .- .-.. - . .-. / .- -.. / ...- .. - .- -- / ... ..- .-. .-. . -..- .. - .-.-.- / -. --- -. / .. -. / -- --- -. ..- -- . -. - --- / -- .- --. -. .. ..-. .. -.-. --- / ... . -.. / .. -. / .-.. --- -.-. --- / ... .--. .. .-. .- .-.. .. --..-- / -- ..- - .- -... .. .-.. .. --..-- / . - / ...- .- -.-. ..- --- .-.-.- / .-.. --- -.-. --- / ..- -... .. / --- -- -. .. ... / .--. .- ... ... ..- ... / ..-. --- .-. - .- ... ... . / - . / -.. . .-. . .-.. .. -. --.- ..- .- - .-.-.- / .-.. --- -.-. --- / ..- -... .. / .- .-. -.-. .... .. - . -.-. - ..- ... / -.. .. ... - .- -. - .. .- . / .... .- -... .. - .- - .-.-.- / .-.. --- -.-. --- / ..- -... .. / -- ..- .-.. - .- . / .-. . .- .-.. .. - .- - . ... / .. -. / ..- -. .- -- / -.-. --- -. ..-. .-.. ..- ..- -. - .-.-.- / -. ..- .-.. .-.. .- / - .- -... ..- .-.. .- / .. -.. / ... .. --. -. .- - .-.-.- / -. ..- .-.. .-.. .. / --- -.-. ..- .-.. .. / .. -.. / ...- .. -.. . .-. ..- -. - .-.-.-

Ashen nodded, and we turned to a new spread. This time, I took the recto, while Ashen took the verso. The task was simple: glance at the code, consult the chart, write the letter.

Over time, I began to memorize some of the patterns, enough to recognize a few on sight; I tried my best. Howbeit, Ashen seemed to catch onto the pattern faster.

…

That does not need to be discussed. It will reoccur. It always does. There is no point dwelling on the same thing over and over… as favorable as it is.

“Aaand—done!” He pressed the pencil to the paper a moment longer before releasing it. “Beat you by a…— I don't know anymore.”

“By a sentence or two, mayhaps.”

“Nah. Maybe three, even.”

“It still is not a landslide.”

“Tch… The landslide days are behind us, huh?”

“It has not even been… an hour and a half—or so. Since we started decoding the book.”

“You know that's not what I meant!”

 “Then… try being more precise.”

Ashen scoffed, grinning. “No thanks. I’d rather keep you guessing. Adds to the mystery.”

“That is actually… fine by me.”

Simply, if there are no questions, there is nothing to think about.

I let the silence settle again as I returned to the page. A few more lines—I mean, a few more letters…

Then, at last, I lowered the pencil down beside the notebook.

“There.”

Ashen perked up immediately. “Ooh, finally! Welcome to the finish line! Wait—I mean, welcome back!”

“Now,” I said, “let us see what it actually says.”

altera vulnus

dum tempus consuebatur, spatium tamen pergebat sanguinare. terra contorta est. viae evanuerunt. arcanum altius factum est, et multiplicatum. si hoc perseveret, mundus frangatur ultra navigationem. nec domus iam vocari possit. itaque, is qui loca texit etiam solutiones quaesivit. ex sua energia, orbis alter ad vitam surrexit. non in monumento magnifico sed in loco spirali, mutabili, et vacuo. loco ubi omnis passus fortasse te derelinquat. loco ubi architectus distantiae habitat. loco ubi multae realitates in unam confluunt. nulla tabula id signat. nulli oculi id viderunt.

There were no capital letters. Understandable, given that Morse code cannot distinguish between uppercase and lowercase. But this is…

“Latin,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes.

Ashen groaned. “Latin again?! So what—this thing wants us to translate it twice? Ughhh, this sucks. That’s two spreads gone! Gone forever!”

“We could write smaller—or not, whatever—while we translate it,” I replied. “Or, we could skip the translation entirely and guess the meanings like usual.”

He would enjoy that.

He perked up. “Ooh, yes please. Let’s just wing it. That’s way more fun.”

“Did you really think I said that because I would agree with you?”

He tilted his head. “Whaat? Why nooot?”

“Because this one was encoded twice. That was deliberate, which means it matters. It deserves precision for that.”

Ashen sighed. “Ugh. You’re so responsible.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You say that as if it is a flaw.”

“…Fair.”

I moved the Morse code book aside and swapped it with the Latin dictionary Ashen had found.

“So, this… should be easy, right? We can just do the same thing we did with Morse code,” Ashen said.

“A good rule of thumb is to start with the grammar section. And lamentably, those tend to be worded so convolutedly that they require far more brain power than they should. So—no. Not exactly.”

“Wait—how convoluted can they be? Let me see!”

Ashen snatched the book and began skimming. “Why does this thing have so many dang pages?!”

He was not wrong. It was quite thick. Too thick for me to be able to tell an estimate.

“Because it is a dictionary. There are many words to be listed,” I stated the obvious.

“Yeah, yeah… Where is it?” he mumbled.

“They are usually at the start or the back,” I mentioned.

“Hmm… start or back, huh?” he said, flipping through the pages. “A-ha! I think this is it!” He rotated it slightly so I could see it too.

At the top of the page was the heading: ‘Grammar Overview’.

“‘Disclaimer: As Latin is a highly inflected language, individual word forms (e.g., declined nouns or conjugated verbs) may not appear as separate entries within this dictionary… Instead, they are listed under their base forms: nouns by their nominative singular… and verbs by the first-person singular present active indicative…? To identify and translate these forms, consult the explanations provided herein.’” he read out loud. “…HUH? What even is a first-person singular present active indicative?!”

“I told you. In essence, that is saying that this grammar section mainly serves to avoid redundancy. If they listed ‘run’, ‘ran’, ‘runs’, and ‘running’ separately, this book would be even longer than it already is. And to answer your question, that is simply what you call sentences such as ‘I eat’, ‘I run’, or ‘I drink’.”

“This is ridiculous! Who thought this was a good idea?” he complained. “‘A. Noun Declensions. Latin nouns are declined according to five declension classes, distinguished by the genitive singular ending…’ BROTHER?”

“…We ought to simply see the examples.”

There was a table listed at the end of every declension section. The first one read:

First Declension

• Usually applied to words ending in -a
• Comprised of mostly feminine words
• Examples: terra (earth), aqua (water), puella (girl)

It appears that Latin contains accented letters. However, there was none in our Morse code translation—which was understandable, considering not every character has an equivalent.

“Wait—how do you even pronounce these letters with a dash on top of them?!” 

“That diacritic is called a macron. They turn the vowel long. I am sure you at least know what long and short vowels are, do you not?”

“Ohhh, that’s what they’re called. Right. Yeah. I totally knew that. I just... forgot for a second. Like, a really long second.”

“That is not a second anymore.”

“Well, a few seconds! Still, they're not that important anyway, right? We're not going to be pronouncing them… just reading them—”

“Personally, understanding how it is pronounced helps keep the flow while I read it in my mind.”

“Whatever!” Ashen shook his head. “What's more important are these cases! What do they all mean?! Nominative? Genitive? Dative? Accusative? Ablative? ” he questioned.

“There… is an unordered bullet list below the general explanation. Just read it. It should be way clearer.”

It read:

Latin employs a case system to mark the syntactic and semantic roles of nouns, pronouns, and adjectives within a sentence. Accordingly, the morphological endings of a given noun, as determined by its declensional class, undergo predictable modifications in accordance with the applied grammatical case. While such behavior is not unique to Latin, this clarification is provided here to avoid confusion, as a proper understanding of these patterns is essential for interpreting the reference tables that follow. This list is a non-exhaustive summary of core case functions

• Nominative: Denotes the subject of a finite verb or a predicate nominative. Often the base form as found in lexicons. (⟨a/the⟩ [noun])

• Genitive: Denotes possession, origin, or description. Frequently translated into English using the preposition “of” or by the possessive apostrophe. (⟨of⟩ the [noun])

• Dative: Denotes the indirect object of a verb or the recipient/beneficiary of an action. Frequently translated into English using the prepositions “to” or “for.” (⟨to/for⟩ the [noun])

• Accusative: Denotes the direct object of a transitive verb. Also used to indicate motion toward or the extent of space and time. (⟨a/the⟩ [noun]; not to be confused with the nominative form.)

• Ablative: Denotes a range of adverbial relations such as source, means, manner, time, cause, accompaniment, and separation. Frequently translated into English using the prepositions “by,” “with,” and “from.” (⟨by/with/from⟩ the [noun])

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S ‘THE SUBJECT OF A FINITE VERB OR PREDICATE NOMINATIVE’?! Why can't it just say ‘the noun doing the thing’?!” Ashen whined—although I am not sure if it could even be called that, seeing as it was a valid point.

“Because that would be useful. But clearly, Latin textbook authors despise us, their readers. I suppose… they were aiming for formality—though they prioritized precision over clarity. And obviously, we all know which one actually matters.”

“Woah. That was a lot of words to say ‘the writers suck’. But finally someone said it! Thank you! That's what I'm saying! Oh Cael, you really get me, you really do.”

“Sure. Sure. Anyways, keep on reading.”

“Alright, alright.”

Below was the next section:

Second Declension

• Comprised of mostly masculine and neuter words
• Usually applied to words ending in -us, and -er (masculine), or -um (neuter)
• Examples: servus (servant, m.), puer (boy, m.), binarium (binary, n.)

“Latin has genders too? Oh mec… French was hard enough!”

“…It was mentioned in the first table.”

“Guess I missed it. Too bad, huh?”

“Missing it does not make it disappear.”

“Cool, yeah, okay, I wanna give up now.”

“You can not. We still have more reading to do.”

“I was just kidding…” He snapped upright. “Do you really think I’d just give up like that?! No, Cael, no.” Then he raised a fist in resolve, giving the ceiling a solemn stare. “Anything for our mission! Even if my brain… gets fried.”

So dramatic… I hummed lazily.

We laid our eyes on the book again. The third read:

Third Declension

• Not unique to any gender
• Unpredictable noun endings
• All singular genitive forms end in -is
• Examples: rex (king, m.), civis (citizen, c.), corpus (body, n.)

“Wait, ‘c.’? I thought Latin only had three genders!”

“They do, as evident from these tables. That stands for ‘common’, I think—considering that the word is ‘citizen’. It means the gender can either be masculine or feminine, depending on the context—like teacher, guest, host, student, et cetera. We do not say ‘teachress’, do we?”

“Oh. Right. But how are we going to know if something is part of the third declension?!”

“I suppose… we look for nouns whose endings do not match the ones already listed. Of course, there will be exceptions… such as ‘corpus’, here.”

“Sounds good. Gotcha. Don’t mind the interruption, then.”

And the next ones read…

Fourth Declension

• Comprised of mostly masculine and less often, neuter words
• Usually applied to words ending in -us (masculine and feminine; not to be confused the second declension), or -u or -ū (neuter)
• All singular genitive forms end in -ūs
• Examples: fructus (fruit, m.), cornū (horn, n.), genu (knee, n.), manus (hand, f.)

Fifth Declension

• Comprised of mostly feminine words
• Usually applied to words ending in -ēs
• Examples: rēs (thing, f.), diēs (day, c.), spēs (hope, f.)